


Children of the Stars

by LovelyLadyCon



Series: A New Beginning [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: A Transformers Prime/IDW mash-up with canon divergence, CNA and Transformer Genetics, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybertronian Caste System, Cybertronian politics, Drama, Heavy Angst, Long Shot, Multi, Neurodiversity, Post-War Cyberton, Secrets, Slow Build, Tags Characters and Relationships to be added as they occur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-07 17:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLadyCon/pseuds/LovelyLadyCon
Summary: Imprisoned for five vorns for his part in supporting the now-forsaken Decepticon cause, Knock Out is revived from stasis to help an old acquaintance, and the remaining Autobots face unexpected opposition as returning Neutrals challenge the “winning team’s” right to govern and rule over Cybertron. Meanwhile, an unknown threat to the entire planet looms on the outer edges of the galaxy, waiting for the right moment to strike…





	1. The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my awesome readers, and welcome to Part II! Thank you all for your patience!
> 
> If you are new to this series, I'll be doing my best to make this a stand-alone fic, but it will make a lot more sense to you if you read Part I first.
> 
> Past readers may recall that I was able to update Part I weekly. This time around I am not prepared for that quite yet, so for now I'll be updating at least once a month, possible twice depending on how quickly I can get the chapters written.
> 
> Some notes on units of time used in this story:  
Nano-klick: 1 second  
Klick: 1.2 minutes  
Cycle: 1 day  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar-cycle: 1.7 months  
Mega-cycle: 13 Earth months  
Vorn: 83 Earth years

Airachnid hung suspended from her servos, metal chains dangling her like bait over the floor of the large cavern. The smell of organic materials, dirt and mold and loam, filled her air filters and dulled all of her sensors. A thick layer of dust clung to her metallic frame as though it were magnetized. She could not remember how long she had been hanging there, or how she had come to be there in the first place. Her chronometer seemed to be malfunctioning, the warning blaring across her HUD along with dozens of other alerts that her health was in rapid decline.

Her last memories were of Luna 2 and an insatiable need for Energon that she could not seem to placate. In her lust to fill her tanks, she recalled drawing her Insecticons to her, one by one, and draining them of every ounce of Energon they had in order to quench her thirst. In hindsight, she should have been more careful. Less than fifty Insecticons had tumbled through the Spacebridge with her when Soundwave tricked them all into passing through its vortex. In the cycles that followed, Airachnid had walked the moon with purpose and confidence, searching for any means of escape, but the moon’s surface had nothing to offer but broken and looted ships, and the skeletal frames of long-dead Autobots and Decepticons, and her confidence quickly turned into fear.

Although leaving the moon was Airachnid’s top priority, her desire to refuel was always in the back of her mind. She would not normally use the word “hunger” to define the feelings of a mechanical being such as herself, that was a word for organic lifeforms, but now she felt she understood the word’s true meaning. Her need for Energon was indeed a hunger, a constant pain burning in her tanks that distracted her from her efforts to find a way off of Luna 2. Luckily, the Insecticons were twice her size, and held twice as much Energon in their lines and tanks. In the beginning, she was able to sate her hunger by draining only half the fuel reserves from just one of the bots, who still blindly obeyed her every command, even when the command was to stand there and let themselves be killed as their master sucked them dry of Energon. But as the cycles turned into a decacycle, and then a stellarcycle, Airachnid’s ration of Insecticons dwindled. Had her mind and frame not been at the mercy of the Dark Energon coursing through her, the cause of her eternal thirst, she would have been wise enough to allot herself only a few quarts of their fuel at a time. But once she sank the sharp pincers of her tentacular mouthpiece into their protoflesh and began to drink, she lost herself to the feed, gorging herself on more Energon than was necessary to sustain her.

Thus, Airachnid came to find herself alone one cycle, her Insecticon army reduced to a scattering of empty husks strewn about the moon’s surface where she had let them fall, drained of their life forces. It did not take long after that for the panic to set in. She was alone, with no way off the moon, and no fuel reserves at her disposal. She spent many cycles wandering aimlessly, talking to herself and finally screaming at nothing in her anger at Soundwave and the rest of the Decepticons for putting her in such a predicament. Her unnatural yearning for Energon became so intense that eventually she began to claw at her own frame. She pried her armor plating loose from her servos, bit into her own protoflesh and drank from her own Energon lines, ignoring the pain of the self-inflicted wounds as she quenched her thirst in the last way she knew how.

It was in that constant state of hunger and pain that she finally collapsed. Exhausted and Energon-depraved, she crawled into the wreckage of the closest space shuttle, curled her servos and spidery legs inward against her frame, and waited for deactivation.

Airachnid was not a religious bot, but when she woke up, hanging in chains and covered in dust in that dark cavern, her first thought was that she was in The Pit, that Primus had for _some reason_ seen fit to send her there. As she slowly lifted her head and opened her optic shutters, she stared up at the chains that held her, the vaulted ceiling above her so high that she could not see where the chains were mounted, they simply disappeared into dark shadows.

The thick layer of dust on her frame cracked when she moved and crumbled away from her, silently sifting to the floor below, and when she looked down, she noted that she could not see the floor, either; it was as dark as the void above. The massive hall had, up until that point, been eerily quiet, save for the gentle rattling of the chains when she moved. But suddenly, somewhere down below her, there was another sound, and it echoed through the great, empty space.

_*Click*_

Airachnid froze, her frame tense as she reached out with all her sensors and scanners, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but the dust and smells of dirt and mold spores were still too overwhelming, and she could not locate it.

_*Click*_

It was closer now, she was certain of it. She brightened her optics as much as she could, flicking them back and forth as she scanned the space below her. In that moment, she was too concerned about her current situation to realize that her burning desire for Energon was now uncharacteristically missing.

_*Clickclick*_

Now the single sound was joined by another, then another, and suddenly the massive room was filled with the clicking of what Airachnid thought was the sound of an insect’s mandibles clicking open and shut. Perhaps this was not The Pit after all? Perhaps another horde of Insecticons had come for her frame on Luna 2 to save her? Although that did not explain the chains…

A sprout of flame suddenly shot upwards on the left side of the room. The source was from one of dozens of braziers that lined the walls, and they burst to life all at once with a glowing green fire. As the fires were lit, the great hall filled with an ill-colored light, and Airachnid was finally able to see what was clicking down below her.

Horses. At first glance, Airachnid thought they were horses, the Earthen type, not the mechanical Equinoid type that once grazed Cybertron’s Corroded Plains. These beings were definitely organic, as Earth horses were, only they were five times their size, as big as Airachnid herself, and at the ends of their legs where hoofs ought to have been, razor-sharp claws scraped against the floor instead. It was their claws that had made the sound, clicking against the stone tiles as over a hundred of them walked towards her on long, slender legs that bent awkwardly on inverted kneecaps. Their long necks craned upwards to stare at Airchanid as she hung above them, pulling their grey skin taught against bone and muscle. In place of a slender horse face, their skulls were round, with features that looked strikingly human, save for their silvery, almond-shaped eyes that were almost too big for their faces.

Airachnid was not afraid of alien lifeforms. She had spent many megacycles exploring the galaxies, and in that time had come across more than a thousand different species, many of which she had added to her “collection” of rare specimens aboard her shuttle. These creatures however, she had never seen before. She waited until they were all clustered together under her hanging frame, her optics and internal software finally able to scan them for any signs of familiarity, before she tried to communicate with them. She brought up at least sixty different languages from her databanks, manipulating her vocalizer to synthesize the words. “Help me. Help me down, my friends,” she said, but not a single one of them responded.

Yet despite the lack of a verbal response, Airachnid began to suspect she had gotten through to them after all, when they all began to press their bodies against each other, and then one reached out a clawed leg and began to climb onto the backs of the others. Working together, the creatures slowly built themselves into a stack of twisting limbs and long necks. When one had finally reached the top, it peered up at Airachnid through its silver, pupil-less eyes, and she offered it a smile. Although they were an organic race, she supposed it was possible she might be able to wield some sort of mind control over them, much as she had the Insecticons; they appeared to be just as simple-minded.

“Yes,” Airachnid said, sticking with the language she had used last, when the beings had started to climb. Perhaps it was close enough to their own tongue that they could understand. “You understand me now, don’t you? Free me, my friend, and together we will all leave this place.”

Slowly, the creature tilted its round head to the side, regarding Airachnid thoughtfully before its face suddenly split open as though on a hinge, revealing double rows of needle-sharp teeth. It snapped at Airachnid’s dangling legs, missing them by a mere inch.

Airachnid screamed, the creature screamed back, and then suddenly all the beasts were screaming in unison, a high-pinched wail that reverberated along the walls and made Airachnid’s audials go haywire. She tried to tuck her legs up and engage her T-cog to transform, only to find it was rusted shut, according to the alert on her HUD. Then she tried desperately to raise herself up higher, gripping the chains in both hands and attempting to crawl up them, only she did not have the strength.

The aliens were jumping for her now, launching themselves at her frame from the tower they had created with their own bodies, their claws narrowly missing her peds. It did not take long for one of them to catch hold of one of her thinner, spidery legs that dangled at her back, and with one tug, they ripped it clean off. A fiery pain raced up her spinal column, and she watched as her detached limb fell into the pit of beasts. Their self-made tower collapsed in on itself as they all went for the prize, and for a moment the hall was filled with the sounds of alien shrieks and growls and claws scraping on stone as they fought each other for it. And then they started to climb up again.

Writhing in her chains, Airachnid began to swing herself back and forth, trying to gain some sort of momentum by gyrating her frame as she frantically searched the room for a ledge or shelf she might be able to reach, or an exit to at least aim for. It was then that she saw the large black form coming towards her from the back of the hall. The shadowy figure was so massive that it filled her field of vision in a matter of nano-klicks. It was a giant, even by Transformer standards. Taller than Omega Supreme. Taller than a Titan.

The tower of clawed beasts below Airachnid crumbled and scattered as the great form made its way towards them, its heavy footfalls shaking the floor beneath it and causing Airachnid’s chains to rattle with every step. It was so large that she was unable to get a glimpse of its full body before its massive head suddenly came into view, bathed in the unnatural light of the green fires still burning at the edges of the hall.

A great chitinous helm of brown weathered bone covered the head and jawline of the alien’s face. Two straight, horn-like structures jutted out from either side of its head, and three green eyes, the third in the center of its forehead, glowed as brightly as any Transformer’s optics, as though illuminated by some internal light source. The skin on its face was a sickly bruised purple and brown and looked moist. A thin smear of saliva coated its lipless mouth, its yellowed, pointed teeth bare and exposed to the elements. It had no nose, there was only a gaping hole reaching into its skull.

Airachnid could not see the hand the beast brought forward to steady her swinging chains, and she cringed as suddenly those pointed teeth were right up beside her faceplates. She could smell the decay on its breath as it opened its mouth. The alien’s maw was so large, it could have simply swallowed her whole. Airachnid’s fear of the creature gripped her mind and spark so strongly that she began to shake. She was unable to hold the creature’s gaze, and she looked away as she managed to stammer out a sentence of what she was certain would be her last words. “W-What _are _you?”

A low, guttural sound echoed through the chamber as the enormous creature laughed, its warm breath wafting over Airachnid’s comparatively tiny form. It apparently had no trouble selecting a language the Transformer could understand, for Airachnid was able to comprehend its words immediately, and when it spoke it was as though two voices, one high, one low, were joined together as one.

"We are the Darkness.”

The flashy red sports car raced down the worn and decaying Skyway that wound its way over Iacon. The whine of the vehicle’s engine echoed off the vacant buildings, disturbing the silence of the otherwise peaceful ruins as it sped past the crumbling frames of former skyscrapers and city structures.

When Knock Out had left Bumblebee and Optimus Prime standing on the bridge, he had not done so with any particular destination in mind. He saw a way out of his decidedly unbearable situation back in reality, and he took it, consequences be damned. He’d heard Bumblebee calling his designation when he first took off, but he blatantly ignored it. He put the Commander’s personal comm link on “Block”, and just _drove._ He drove over the city until the Skyway ended and he was forced to take the last exit that led out of town. He tore down the highway and headed west at speeds that would have given Ratchet a spark attack, and when the metal freeway became too cracked and weathered to maintain a smooth ride, he simply veered to the side and pushed his engine even harder as he went off-road.

The sky overhead still hung heavy with dark clouds, though no matter how many miles Knock Out put between himself and Iacon, the storm somehow always managed to remain in the distance, no matter which direction he went.

Time in this alternate reality seemed to have no meaning, and he was unsure of how quickly it was passing. He was only suddenly aware that he’d been driving all night, and then just as sudden, it was the next cycle, the sun now rising on the eastern horizon behind him. He ignored the warnings flashing across his inner console that he was running low on fuel and that his engine was starting to overheat. He didn’t care if he was pushing his systems too hard, he had to get _away_ from Bumblebee and Optimus, he had to get away from _everyone. _

The world outside on either side of his windows had become a constant blur of grey and the occasional glint of metal, but the landscape in the distance ahead of him was a fixed point that Knock Out soon realized he was never going to reach. This realm between death and reality was messing with his mind. It soon became clear that he was just driving into nothingness, as though the planet under his tires was not even physically there to begin with. He was starting to feel the strain on his spark from driving for so long, he felt it burning too hot in his chest, but he pressed on. _Let it burn, _he thought.

With no reachable destination, Knock Out drove blind. He shut down his sensors and cut off all data streams feeding into his processor: the visual scans of Cybertron ahead of him, the feel of the rough metal ground under his tires, the sounds of his now struggling engine. He cut out the entire world around him, because it wasn’t real to begin with, and then he imagined himself disappearing as well, because that’s what he truly wanted, to simply fade out of existence forever. He imagined his tires wearing thin, and his armor falling aside and his spark exploding in his chassis and burning whatever was left of him from the inside out. Soon, there was only the sensation of driving, of a never-ending, forward momentum, and that’s when he finally felt himself slipping away.

Reality as Knock Out knew it ceased to exist. He was free of all things physical. He felt weightless, as though floating in space. He was surrounded by darkness, though it brought him no fear. It was quiet, and calming, and _peaceful._ He forgot why he was there, and how he’d come to be in that place to begin with. He forgot about Cybertron, and the war, and everything and everyone he’d lost because of it. He forgot all of his anger and sadness and guilt. Then he began to forget himself. He forgot what he looked like; he forgot his designation; he forgot who or what he had been. He was no longer Knock Out, he was a tiny pulse of life in the infinite universe. Of those that spoke of “becoming one with Primus”, surely this was what they meant, the feeling of being free and light and filled with joy because of it. Knock Out did not know how long he remained in that state. Was it two nano-klicks, or a million megacycles? He had no way of knowing, and he did not care. He was happy, and he never wanted to leave.

But then, far in the distance, a small point of light broke through the darkness and began to grow. He was compelled towards it, and even though, in his seemingly-frameless state, he no longer had servos, he felt the sensation of reaching out for the light with both hands as it grew brighter and brighter…

“_There_ it is. Decreasing spark pulse replications now.”

“_Finally._ Primus, he was down deep. For a few nano-klicks there, I thought we weren’t going to be able to bring him back online.”

“If we’d ever gotten ahold of a damn stasis pod, it could have been running these reanimation procedures for us. Push a quart of octane booster through his fuel line and see if that gets his engine running a bit hotter, his temperature readings are still way too low.”

“No problem. Are you getting any phase detection from his optics?”

“Not yet…Wait, there’s some contraction on the outer rings…There goes the inner set. Knock Out? Can you hear me?”

Knock Out stared at the light straight on, stunned by its piercing brightness for a moment before his optical refractors kicked in, forcing him to squint his shutters against the intensity of the light. The light shifted away then, and he blinked at the figure above him as he tried to refocus his lenses.

“Knock Out, can you see me? Can you see the light?” the vocalizer above him spoke once more, it was oddly familiar. Once the light passed over Knock Out’s optics a final time, the fuzzy edges of the figure finally sharped into straight lines, and as he stared up at the aged faceplates and worn, blue optics blinking back down at him, he realized he knew this mech. It did not take long for his memory banks to bring forth the correct designation, though he was forced to reset his vocalizer several times before he could get the name out.

“Ratchet?”

“Memory seems to be in working order, so far,” Ratchet said before shining the light again. He placed a hand against the side of Knock Out’s face and pulled the shutter of his left optic wide open with his thumb. “Follow the light…good.”

Obeying direct orders was about all Knock Out’s processor was able to handle for the first few klicks as all of his systems slowly came back online, and when the reboot was nearly complete, suddenly his HUD was filled with data as he began to recall more and more memories about Ratchet. When he finally realized who the mech _really _was, he blinked again in surprise. ”Primus...you’re still _alive?”_

“What?” Ratchet said, giving Knock Out a scowl as he shut the flashlight off and set it aside. “Of _course _I am! I’m not _that _old!” Ratchet rolled his optics before looking past Knock Out to glare all the more at the source of the laughter Knock Out could hear coming from behind him. “Yes, how _very _funny it is. _Ha ha.”_

“Oh, come on. It’s funny that’s the first thing he remembers,” a much shorter mech suddenly came into view, and Knock Out stared while data loaded from his memory banks again as his processor slowly worked out exactly who this bot was.

“First Aid?”

“Welcome back,” First Aid said, and Knock Out instantly felt the mech’s EM field spreading over him, warm and welcoming and filled with happiness. He could feel First Aid’s hand touching his left servo as the Medic raised one side of his visor in question. “How do you feel?”

And suddenly it all came crashing back to him at once: The end of the war, his defection from the Decepticons, Megatron and Starscream taking off without him; the incident on the Skybridge with Optimus Prime in the other realm, Bumblebee, and the Light now mysteriously shared between their sparks; every conversation Knock Out had with every Autobot since then, every secret that was revealed and to whom; First Aid, Ratchet, Arcee, Prowl, Wheeljack, Smokescreen, the humans—Jack and Miko and Rafael and June; the criminal charges the Council brought against him, his trial_,_ his final sentence and the cell in Unit E, and his spark aching for Breakdown and how sad and angry and guilty he’d felt, and…

Wait. His sentence. Five vorns. Five vorns behind bars, with the possibility of parole after two vorns. Was it done, then? Was it over? Knock Out pushed himself up on the medslab into a sitting position, pausing to hold his helm with both hands as a momentary wave of dizziness washed over him. But once he was able to focus again, he blinked at his fingers, recalling how his hands were now mismatched since Ratchet had replaced his left servo. Then he looked to his surroundings, at the now very familiar Medbay, and the table once used to sort Energon crystals and the side room where Chromedome had performed Mnemosurgery on him before the trial. And then he finally looked back to Ratchet and First Aid watching him, confusion written all over his faceplates as he spoke, for he assumed that after such a long time, _surely _the Autobots would have abandoned this base.

“Everything looks the same…Is this Earth? Are we still on Earth?”

First Aid gave a slow, worried glance to Ratchet before he quickly looked back to Knock Out, and Knock Out felt that signature flaring from the smaller Medic again, only this time it was apologetic and filled with concern. “Knock Out, I’m sorry.”

“What? Why…?” Knock Out paused as his chronometer finally caught up with the rest of his resetting systems, the current date and time flashing before his optics on his internal feed: Earth cycle 29 September 2015. It did not take many nano-klicks after that for his processor to do the math. It has been just _six _stellar-cycles, a little less than ten Earth months. Knock Out stared at the calculation on his HUD in utter disbelief. His sentence wasn’t over, hell, it had barely begun. He wasn’t free to leave; he wasn’t on parole. In the grand scheme of things, he was right back where he started when he’d managed to put himself into stasis: Serving his time on an Autobot base with over four-hundred-and-thirteen Earth years to go until his release. The sudden burst of anger that rippled from his signature was so strong that First Aid took a step back as Knock Out pressed his palms to his closed optics and took a slow, deep ventilation. “...You _woke me up!?” _Now the memories of stasis were running through his processor, of how happy he’d been, how free he’d felt, how he could have easily spent an eternity in that state of being. _And they just had to go and take that from him. _

“Yes, we woke you up,” said Ratchet as he crossed his servos. He had been reluctant to do it, though he highly doubted Knock Out would ever believe him, regardless of the circumstances, “because we need your help.”

“I’m sorry! _We’re_ sorry!” First Aid repeated as he stepped forward to take one of Knock Out’s hands in his own, and he could not help but wince at the “How _could_ you!?” look Knock Out was now giving him. “But Ratchet’s right, we need your help. We wouldn’t have woken you up if we weren’t desperate, I _swear!”_

Knock Out glanced from one Medic to the other, looking for some sort of indication that this was all a dream or vision produced by the realm he’d been previously stuck in. But the serious looks he was being given and the tight squeeze of First Aid’s hand as he clutched him were very real, and he eventually had to vent a heavy sigh as he hung his head in defeat. He was stuck in reality again, where his Conjux Endura was dead, where he was facing up to five vorns behind bars unless he made parole, and the entire universe hated him for what he’d done as a Decepticon. ”What is it, then?” he muttered, “What’s so _Goddamn_ important!?”

Ratchet could feel the wave of disappointment emanating from Knock Out’s signature, and it pained him, it truly did. If it had been _him_ facing five vorns, Ratchet knew he would have wanted to spend it in stasis as well. He did not mention any of that however, as he too vented a sigh. “I’m sorry we had to wake you, but we believe you’re the only one who can fix this…this _situation,”_ he said, and he held Knock Out’s gaze when the mech finally looked back up to him. “Soundwave has returned.”


	2. The Eyes and Ears of the Decepticons

Within just a few hours of Ratchet confirming that all of Knock Out’s systems were in working order, the two Autobot Medics and the ex-‘Con walked through the Spacebridge on Earth and came out into the Nemesis on Cybertron on the other side.

“Oh, thank Primus,” said Fixit, relief pushing outwards from his signature when he spotted Ratchet and First Aid as they stepped out of the spiraling vortex of the Spacebridge, with Knock Out in stasis cuffs between them. Fixit gestured for the three to follow him as he quickly made his way out of the Navigation room and into the maze of hallways within the Nemesis. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to assist us,” he said as he glanced back to Knock Out.

Knock Out barely had time to give the Navigation room a once-over before he was whisked away into the corridors, and now he could do nothing but stare in amazement at his surroundings. The purple walls of the ship had been stripped, their metal facing replaced with some sort of permacrete, which was painted primer white. When the group passed an outer wall, Knock Out could see that gigantic holes had been cut into the structure and made into wide glass windows, giving him a spectacular view of Iacon. The frames of new buildings reached upwards towards the sky over Cybertron, and Knock Out could see several construction crews, cranes, bulldozers, and dump trucks, all hard at work to rebuild the city. Closer to the Nemesis, a large shanty-town of temporary shelters had been cobbled together with all size and manner of spacecraft, and dozens of bots could be seen walking, driving, or flying overhead.

Back on the Nemesis, not only had the walls been replaced, but the lights overhead as well, making the once dark and shadowy hallways look bright and new. The entire atmosphere of the ship seemed to have changed. It was warm and pleasant and _inviting_ and, Knock Out quickly realized, now home to a countless number of Autobots. As the four made their way across the ship they passed by many bots, some conversing in the hallways, some at work in various rooms and stations as they walked by. Knock Out didn’t recognize a single one of them, but he was quite certain they recognized him, as several narrowed their optics upon seeing him.

“—can help?” Fixit had been talking the entire time, but Knock Out only now caught the tail-end of what he’d been saying as they walked into the Medbay, where changes had also been made. The walls were as white as the hallways, and everything looked clean and appropriately sterile under the new lighting. Two more medslabs had been added, and new and refurbished medical equipment and devices lined the counters. For a Medbay in a town that was struggling to get back on its peds after four million megacycles of war, it looked amazing.

“Knock Out?”

“Huh?” Knock Out blinked back to Fixit as though he’d completely forgotten the Medic was there. “What?”

“We think he’s been asking for you. Soundwave, I mean,” Fixit raised a brow to the blank stare Knock Out was giving him before he looked to Ratchet, doubtfully, as he pinged the older Medic with an internal comm. “{I thought you said he wasn’t suffering any side-effects from stasis?}”

“{He’s not, I think it’s just a lot to take in, that’s all},” Ratchet replied, then he reached out to remove the stasis cuffs from Knock Out’s wrists, trying to reassure him as he spoke aloud. “Looks different, doesn’t it? They needed metal to start rebuilding the city, so they’ve been stripping it off the ship for a while now. She’s not space-worthy anymore, but she’s still serving as Autobot headquarters, for the time being.”

“Oh,” was all Knock Out could say to that. He watched Ratchet tuck the stasis cuffs into his subspace, narrowing his optics slightly. Ratchet had assured him the cuffs were merely a formality, but Knock Out was certain it was for the “safety” of all the bots onboard the ship. Like he was really such a threat. Pushing those thoughts aside, Knock Out finally processed what Fixit had been saying, and he raised a brow back to him. “Wait, what do you mean you ‘think’ Soundwave has been asking for me?”

Fixit reached for a data pad on the counter and tapped the screen a few times before a recording played over the device. Knock Out recognized his own voice instantly. “’I’m not only an automobile, I’m an automobile enthusiast’…’I’m not only an automobile, I’m an automobile enthusiast’,” the sentence repeated over and over on the recording, and Fixit cut it off with the touch of a finger to the screen. “That’s you, right? He’s been running the recording non-stop. Well, that, and this,” Fixit tapped the screen again, and suddenly Silas’s zombified voice droned from the data pad: “Energoooon!”

The voice sent a chill up Knock Out’s spinal column, and he winced for a moment as that memory threatened to present itself to his processor again. _Not now, later,_ he told himself, and he drew a quick vent of air into his filters before looking to Fixit. “…That first one is me, yes,” he gave another sweeping glance around the Medbay before looking back to the three Medics. “Where _is_ Soundwave? I thought you said he was injured?” Ratchet and First Aid had given him a brief rundown of everything that occurred with Soundwave’s reappearance. The bot had found his way out of the Shadowzone, though how he had managed that was still under investigation. During what had appeared to be a Spacebridge malfunction, Soundwave had stepped out of the vortex and gone straight for Caps Lock, who had been manning the Spacebridge controls at the time. Somehow, the Vehcion was able to alert the ship’s Security Team before Soundwave tore him down. With his one remaining mechanical tendril, Soundwave had immediately latched onto Caps Lock and hacked into his brain node, as simply and effectively as any Mnemosurgeon, and began downloading as much information from his databanks as possible. But the real damage to the Vehicon had occurred when Soundwave ripped through his chest plates with both hands and dug into his protoflesh to remove his fuel tank. He then siphoned every ounce Energon from it, draining Caps Lock of his fuel reserves as though he was the only source of Energon on the ship. The Vehicon was considered lucky to still be alive.

“He _is_ injured. Once he released Caps Lock, he ran,” Fixit said as he tapped the data pad once more, bringing up a blueprint of the Nemesis, which he offered to Knock Out. “The Security Team has him isolated in an old storage room, but no one’s been able to get near him since. Every time someone opens the door, he emits a high-pitched shriek at a frequency that can just about scramble your processor. Last time we measured, it was over four hundred Hertzions,” Fixit shook his head as he pressed his finger to the screen again. “We tried giving him a few Energon bottles laced with sedatives, but he can somehow tell what’s in them, because he hasn’t touched them. The Security Team wanted to toss a stun grenade in there, but he’s already wounded, and apparently low on fuel reserves, and I’m not sure he’d survive a blast like that, so I told them ‘No’, for now. We can barely get through the door before he starts up with the screeching again, though,” Fixit glanced back to Knock Out. “I’m not sure how much longer he can survive in that room, and Primus knows he can’t stay in there forever.”

“How long has he been in there?” said Ratchet.

“We’re going on fifty-one hours, now.”

“Any updates on his injuries?”

“Well, despite the minor cannibalism and freaky voice recording, he’s _not _a Terrorcon, thank Primus,” said Fixit as he stepped over to one of the work stations and brought up the Cybertronian Medical Records Database (CMRD). With a few more flicks of the screen, he brought up Soundwave’s file. “I managed to get a partial frame scan once he holed up in the storage room, but then he started up with that screaming nonsense and I had to get outta there,” he gestured to the screen with a hand. “From what I gathered, it looks like he’s missing one of his retractable tentacles, and the Security Team members reported seeing a large crack and broken glass along his visor during the shootout. Laserbeak is docked on him, but I wasn’t able to collect any data on her.”

“So, the _Security Team_ injured him?” Knock Out narrowed his optics on Fixit’s blue face.

“Hardly,” Fixit glared back, “they were shooting to incapacitate, not kill. I’m not even sure any of them got a decent hit on him, he was moving pretty fast despite his wounds. Besides, the cam recordings from the Navigation room show Soundwave coming out of the Spacebridge with those injuries already _on_ him. Whatever happened to him happened in the Shadowzone, not here on Cybertron.”

“He’s already running on his back-up battery. He needs to recharge,” said First Aid as he too skimmed the incomplete report on the monitor. “His fuel levels are also drastically low. It looks like he’s literally been running on Energon fumes. I guess that explains why he went for Caps Lock’s fuel tank.”

Knock Out frowned as he read the brief entry as well. The Pit only knew how Soundwave had managed to survive in the Shadowzone for an entire megacycle, and he was certain they would never get that answer out of Soundwave himself. Knock Out was genuinely concerned for the mech, regardless of the past, regardless of the countless times Soundwave had “ratted him out” to Megatron whenever he did things that had not exactly aligned with the Decepticon way of life. Soundwave had been one of Megatron’s first recruits when the faction had formed, and he had remained the most devout to the cause ever since. But what would the Autobots do to him, most loyal of the Decepticons, now that the war was over?

Having listened to everything Fixit had to say and reviewed the report, Knock Out silently analyzed the data. Certainly, there was a part of him that wanted to help, but the _other_ half wanted nothing to do with this. Let the Autobots deal with this on their own. _You won the war, **you **get to deal with the fallout._ And yet, the idea of Soundwave suffering prompted a sense of care in Knock Out’s spark that he could not ignore. Still, this all seemed a tad bit hypocritical of the Autobots. Knock Out shifted his narrowed gaze to the three Medics standing before him.

“You woke me up and brought me back onboard this ship to show me Soundwave’s injury report and help you do _what,_ exactly? Give you medical advice?” he glared all the more at that as he crossed his servos. _“You all_ are the Medics, not me. _You’re_ the ones with the Goddamn degrees hanging on the walls, _right?_ Not _me._ _I’m_ not qualified for this. I’m not even qualified to look at that screen,” he pointed a sharp finger to the CMRD monitor.

Fixit looked suddenly guilty at that, and quickly flicked his gaze away. Ratchet, however, met Knock Out’s glare with his own, but it was First Aid that finally spoke up where the other two Medics were silent. ”We thought you could help Soundwave as his _friend._ He doesn’t trust any of us. He’s injured and probably scared, and we thought if anyone could coax him out of that storage room peacefully, it would be you.”

Knock Out tried to hold his scowl as he watched First Aid, but time had changed nothing, he still couldn’t stay angry at the bot for long. Of _course_ First Aid would think that something so pure and simple as friendship would be enough to bring Soundwave around. _Silly Autobot._

With another vented sigh, Knock Out gave an almost helpless glance back to the injury report on the monitor, paying particular attention to what little information was available regarding Soundwave’s broken visor. He knew that was the real issue here. He was already fearing the worst, based on the scan, the description of the cracked glass, and the shrill noise Soundwave was emitting. The very thought of dealing with it was already giving him a headache, and he pressed his fingers against his helm for a moment before finally relenting. “Fine, but I can’t promise you anything I say or do is going to work.”

The Energon storage room that Soundwave was occupying had two guards posted at the door, though they stood across the hallway from the actual door itself, their weapons at the ready. Knock Out did not recognize them as he and the three Medics walked towards them in the hallway. With three escorts, Ratchet had assured the Security Team that Knock Out did not need to be stasis-cuffed, though Knock Out could sense the wariness and unease pulsing from their EM fields as they approached.

“Any changes to report?” Fixit asked the guards as he paused by the doorway.

“Negative, Sir.”

“Alright,” Fixit glanced to Knock Out then, who was busy readying the data pad he held in his hand. “What’s your game plan, then?”

“Get an assessment, for starters,” Knock Out replied.

“Wait,” said First Aid, now suddenly nervous as he looked between them all, “is this really a good idea? Knock Out, is this _safe_ for you?”

“Safer for me than any of you, isn’t that the point?” Knock Out asked before he tucked the data pad under one arm and took the two bottles of medical-grade Energon from Ratchet’s hands as he offered them. “If I’m not back in ten klicks, assume Soundwave’s killed me and then sorry, you’re on your own,” he shrugged. He turned towards the door and gave Fixit a nod, who then entered the code into the panel on the wall, causing the door to slide open to the right.

Knock Out stepped into the room and the door was closed behind him. The high-pitched wail started almost immediately. He could barely take another step into the room before he was forced to press the two bottles of Engeron in his hands over his audials and somehow not drop the data pad still tucked under his arm as he winced against the noise. For a second it was all his processor could handle. He felt like it was penetrating right into his brain node, stabbing into his circuitry and tearing it wide open. He almost forgot why he was there to begin with.

“Soundwave, _stop!_ STOP! For frag’s sake, it’s _me!”_ he yelled, though he could not even hear his own vocalizer through the audial disturbance. The shrieking filled the tiny room for three more nano-klicks before it suddenly cut off, and Knock Out slumped his shoulders in relief at the sound of silence. _“Thank_ you!”

“‘I’m not only an automobile, I’m an automobile enthusiast’,” Knock Out’s voice chimed back to him from the farthest corner of the room.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here,” Knock Out took a slow step forward. He was not surprised to find that most of the overhead lights were blown out, save a few bulbs by the door and in a few corners of the room. The glow of his red optics bounced off the empty Energon crates as he glanced around. “I’ve brought you some Energon.”

“’Energoooon’,” came the audio recording, forcing Knock Out to freeze in his tracks as he shuddered.

“Do you _have _to use _that_ one!?”

“’Energon’,” said Starscream’s haughty voice.

“That’s better,” Knock Out slowly worked his way around the crates until he finally found the back of the room, and he grit his denta with worry when he saw the faint, purple glow emanating from there. It was as bad as he’d feared. Soundwave was crouched on the floor, his dark grey frame folded into the corner as best he could manage. His armor was riddled with dents and scratches, dark grey paint flaking off to reveal brushed metal underneath. He clutched his helm with both hands, his slender fingers splayed over the sharp glass edges of a jagged hole in his shattered visor. It was from that hole that the purple glow emanated, though the interior light was dim. His entire frame trembled as he rocked forward and back in a quick rhythm, and as Knock Out neared him, he buried his helm under his arms and moaned, the synthetization the combined tones of Starscream’s most pathetic whine and Predaking’s deep growl. This was not the graceful, serious, and stoically silent Soundwave that stood by Megatron as his Communications Officer and most masterful spy. This was Soundwave at his breaking point, the Soundwave that few ever saw.

Knock Out did not get too close as he tried to first analyze Soundewave’s injuries with his optics alone. He was expecting Soundwave’s remaining tentacle to come lashing out at him at any moment, but then he saw it lying limp on the floor at Soundwave’s peds, tiny sparks crackling from a deep tear in the outer plating. The wound looked fresh and was clearly made by a shot fired from a laser pistol; Knock Out narrowed his optics as he recalled Fixit’s claim that Soundwave wasn’t injured by the Security Team.

Despite First Aid’s assumption, Soundwave was far from what Knock Out would call a “friend”, not in the same sense the Autobots called one another “friends”, at least. Having been the eyes and ears of the Decepticons, Soundwave had been the one to report many of Knock Out’s failures and his often-blatant disregard of orders to Megatron, on multiple occasions. Many times, Knock Out had blamed Soundwave for the beatings he received from Megatron as punishment, and it had taken him hundreds of megacycles to finally concede that Soundwave was just doing his job. Still, Megatron had always shown Soundwave obvious favoritism, a fact that irked Knock Out and had absolutely enraged Starscream. But Knock Out could not help the wave of sympathy that pulsed from his EM field at the sight of Soundwave now, and despite their past, he was genuinely happy to see him.

After slowly setting one of the Engeron cannisters down on the floor at his own peds, Knock Out carefully unscrewed the cap on the other, his optics never leaving Soundwave’s frame. “Primus, what the hell happened to you?” he asked, though he knew he’d receive no response. “Here,” he offered the open container to Soundwave, who turned his visor toward it warily before he snatched it from Knock Out’s hand with his own. Soundwave immediately brought the cannister to his side, where a small panel opened and a fuel line unfolded from within. Knock Out could not sense the analysis that Soundwave was internally performing on the Energon in the container, but he knew the mech was testing it before he finally brought the fuel up through the line and into his frame via the thin metal conduit.

As Soundwave refueled, Knock Out removed the datapad from under his arm and began the diagnostic program. He held the pad out from his own frame as a blue beam of light suddenly shot out from one end of it, running a laser-like line over Soundwave’s frame, from his helm to his peds. Soundwave instantly jerked away, though not before he took a swipe at Knock Out and the datapad with his free hand. Knock Out was ready for that.

“Don’t be difficult,” Knock Out muttered as he quickly took a step back, leaning away from Soundwave’s grasp as the scan continued, “you know I have to do this if you want me to help you.”

Soundwave turned his helm from one side to the other as he clutched his visor with a hand once more. “’Fixit’,” said Fixit’s voice as he ran his fingers over the cracked glass, “‘Fixit, Fixit’.”

With the scan complete, Knock Out set the program to tabulate the results, then tucked the datapad under his arm once more as he picked up the last can of medical-grade Energon and unscrewed the cap. He was hesitant to respond to Soundwave’s request, but the mech had to know the truth, although surely he knew it already. The Shadowzone was an alternate dimension, a literal “shadow” of reality. _Surely_ Soundwave was aware that the war was over, that the Decepticons had lost. _Surely _Soundwave and seen and heard everything in reality as it happened over the past megacycle on Cybertron. Knock Out could not imagine how frustrating it must have been for him, to be able to see and hear everything happening around him, but to not be able to do a damn thing about it. Whether Soundwave, trapped in the Shadowzone, had gone after Megatron once the fallen warlord had departed, or whether he had stuck around the Nemesis and seen everything that had transpired since, all he would have been able to do was watch, helplessly, as the world went on without him. And what of the injuries he had sustain there? What horrific things were lurking in the Shadowzone that Soundwave had clearly been forced to fight off?

Knock Out cautiously offered the final cannister of Energon to Soundwave, and he tried to choose his words carefully as he told Soundwave the honest truth. “Listen…I can’t fix you. I mean, I _can,_ but the Autobots are in charge now, so _they_ can fix you, but I can’t anymore. Ratchet is here, and First Aid, and it sounds like you met Fixit. I’m sure if you let them, they can—” Knock Out began, but he was forced to cut himself short and recoil as Soundwave once again screamed at a frequency so high Knock Out swore the glass in his optics was about to shatter. He unconsciously dropped the open bottle of Energon, which rolled away from him and left a trail of blue liquid in an arc across the floor. “STOP!” Knock Out yelled, slamming his hands over his audials as he felt himself sinking to one knee. It felt as though his optics were about to pop out of his skull. “Soundwave, _please!” _he literally begged. The horrid sound rang out through the tiny storage room for a few more nano-klicks before Soundwave finally let it peter out in a wail of frustration.

“‘Knock Out’. ‘Fixit’. ‘Knock Out’. ‘Fixit’,” recordings of Starscream and Fixit’s voices alternated back and forth from Soundwave’s frame as he flung the now empty cannister from his side and grabbed at his visor with both hands to resume his rocking.

“Alright!” Knock Out yelled, still cringing at the feedback playing through his audials. It was so sharp that he barely understood Soundwave’s words. “Alright…I have to ask the Autobots first. Let me go ask them.”

“‘Return to me’,” Megatron’s voice commanded, and Knock Out shuddered despite himself. He had not heard the Decepticon leader’s voice in more than a megacycle, but even so, it still startled him into submission, and he was halfway through a bow before he realized what he was doing and saying.

“Yes, Lord Mega—Yes, _Soundwave._ I will return.”


	3. The Hidden Truth

The three Medics and Knock Out stood gathered under one of the wider monitors in the Medbay, the data from Soundwave’s diagnostic scan displayed across the screen. Ratchet and Fixit were already preparing a treatment plan while First Aid drew up a schematic on a data pad.

Knock Out had remained silent, lost in his own analysis of the new data once it was posted, though he could not help but listen to the discussion going on beside him. He was not surprised that he was not being included in the conversation, _he wasn’t a Medic,_ after all, not according to _them._ Still, Ratchet eventually noticed the subtle glare Knock Out was giving them, and the old mech raised a hand to Fixit for him to pause as he finally glanced to the ex-‘Con.

“What do _you _think of all this?” Ratchet asked as he gestured to the monitor with a hand, and while he would probably not consider Knock Out’s “professional opinion”, or lack thereof, he _would_ take the mech’s past experience with Soundwave into account.

As though he could read Ratchet’s mind, Knock Out narrowed his gaze on him before turning to the screen once more. He knew the eldest Medic was probably just humoring him, but he took the opportunity to have his say, regardless. “You need to focus on his visor first, that’s where he’s taken the most damage. It’s lost its hermetic seal.”

“Psh, that’s just cosmetic,” Fixit scoffed as he reached up to splay his fingers across the screen, zooming in on the image of Soundwave’s frame and the recorded damage. “His visor is a part of his armor; it doesn’t have any pain receptors, we should fix it last. According to the scan, the _real _issues are internal. All his fluid reservoirs are _way_ below the red line. Everything needs to be replenished before we even _think_ about armor repair.”

Knock Out heard everything Fixit was saying, and in fact silently agreed with it, but he still shook his head. “If you ever expect to get near enough to him that you _can_ replenish his fluids, you need to fix the visor first. It’s more than just armor, it’s what makes him…” Knock Out paused, trying to think of the appropriate words, “…sort of normal,” is what he went with, because Soundwave, in his opinion, would always be far from “normal”.

“What do you mean?” First Aid asked as he looked up from his data pad.

“Soundwave is…” Knock Out hesitated again, and he was not sure why. It was not as though the three Autobot Medics couldn’t research all of this in Soundwave’s medical records themselves, although there were as many holes in Soundwave’s records as there had been in Knock Out’s, before Ratchet forced him to upload it back into the CMRD. Knock Out was fairly certain Soundwave had managed to hack the CMRD at some point and erase much of what Knock Out himself had put there regarding Soundwave’s “condition”, but he had never confronted him about it. “He has issues,” Knock Out said, shifting his gaze between the three, “sensory issues. The lights, the sounds, the smells, our EM fields,” he pointed to First Aid at that, “ultrasound, infrasound, longitudinal and transverse and subsonic waves, aeroacoustics, he can sense all of those and more, every spectrum of energy that exists, all the time. Sonic texture isn’t a physical _thing_ you can touch_,_ but _he_ can feel it as though it really is. He can _taste _the air and _smell_ colors. It’s like he’s…too sensitive to the universe, or something,” Knock Out shrugged. He wouldn’t normally use the word “sensitive” to describe _any _Decepticon, but he knew the Autobots wouldn’t hold such a trait against Soundwave. They kept First Aid around, right? Knock Out figured that mech was about as sensitive as they came, just in a different way.

“Everything overwhelms his sensors to the point that he can’t process anything normally,” Knock Out continued. “The visor fixes that. It helps him filter some of that stuff out and translates the rest into something comprehensible. It makes the world slightly more bearable for him. It keeps him operational. But once it’s compromised,” he shook his helm once more as he looked to the screen, “…well, you see how he is now. He can’t handle it. He gets out of control; too much stimulation all at once. He loses the ability to function properly.”

Ratchet narrowed his gaze as he thought back to times before the war. He did not personally know Soundwave back then, though he knew _of_ him, and he knew the mech had always been a little “different”, with his odd speech patterns and the multitude of Cassettecons always close at hand. He also knew the bot was rumored to be able to read minds. Ratchet never realized that all of that came with a price though, and he wondered how many others were aware of Soundwave’s impairments. “Did Megatron know about this?” Ratchet raised a chevron brow to Knock Out, because he simply could not fathom that Megatron would have been willing to put up with something Ratchet was sure the Decepticon leader would have perceived as a great weakness, had he known the truth.

“Of _course_ he knew,” Knock Out looked almost hurt that Ratchet would assume otherwise, and he gave the old Medic a knowing look then, that suggested he was speaking of secrets that pertained to more than just Soundwave, “he knew _everything_ about his troops.”

“I suppose I’m just _surprised_ that he allowed a bot with such…_special needs_ on his ship,” Ratchet said.

“Special needs, yes, but Soundwave also has special abilities. Megatron recognized those abilities in him early on, and he encouraged Soundwave to cultivate them. Megatron knew true talent when he saw it, unlike some_ other _factions,” Knock Out sneered as he gave a glare Ratchet.

“What are you getting at?” Ratchet crossed his servos as he glared right back. “Soundwave is an Outlier! I remember hearing he spent time at the Jhiaxian Academy of Advanced Technology! Only the best and brightest were allowed in that institution! They _helped _him!”

“Certainly they did, until Sentinel Prime had the academy destroyed and put Soundwave to work in an Energon mine on Luna 2. Sentinel Prime was an _Autobot,_ wasn’t he?”

“Well, yes…sort of.”

“He was, until it was later discovered he was secretly working for the Functionists,” First Aid piped up, then at the same time realized where all of this was going, and he frowned. “Oh.”

“You see where Soundwave’s great mistrust of the Autobots started, then,” Knock Out nodded to First Aid. “He went from honing his skills at the Jhiaxian Academy with Senator Shockwave to slaving in the mines like a low-caste _nobody._ And surprise surprise! He couldn’t handle it down in the pits with all his sensory issues, and then they kicked him out of there, too. And then along came Senator Ratbat, who lead Soundwave to Megatron, and the rest is history,” Knock Out shrugged. “But I digress. You want to know what I think of all this?” he gestured to the screen filled with Soundwave’s biodata, “I think you need to fix the visor first, he’ll be much more agreeable if you do.”

“And if we don’t?” Fixit asked.

“You heard the noise he’s capable of, and that’s only on one wavelength, _and _he’s being nice enough to keep it contained to that one room,” Knock Out said as he looked to Fixit. “You think it’s bad now? Just wait until he starts using the frequency that can cause your transmission fluid and oil tanks to involuntarily drain, _that’s_ always fun,” Knock Out grumbled as he narrowed his optics back to the monitor. “And thank Primus he’s lost the use of his cables, or he’d probably have this ship flying again by now.”

Fixit, Ratchet, and First Aid all glanced to one another with worry before Fixit simply shrugged and turned back to Knock Out. “Okay, so let’s get Soundwave in here. We can remove the visor for repairs, and—”

“It’s not that simple,” said Knock Out, now recalling the few, agonizing times he’d had to convince Soundwave to remove the visor when it was damaged. “He won’t want to have it removed, even though it’s fully broken now. He doesn’t always understand when you’re trying to help him.”

“Because he’s a little mental?” Fixit said, raising a brow, and Knock Out glared in response. “Is he, like…intellectually compromised, or something?”

_“No,”_ Knock Out growled, “he’s smarter than all of us put together, but all of that data he’s constantly receiving frags with his brain node,” he tapped a finger at his own helm. “When the rest of us receive incoming data, most of it is managed by our processors automatically. It’s running in the background, we don’t even notice it half the time. For Soundwave, he has to process everything on manual, one step at a time. He knows the visor helps him do that, so he’ll be reluctant to let it go, even though it’s broken. He can’t always think about things logically when he’s not functioning properly.”

“Where did he _get _the visor?” Ratchet asked. “I remember, before the war, he had a standard mask and optical shade,” he gestured to First Aid with a hand, for the previous design was almost identical to the smaller Medic’s current helm structure.

“He did,” Knock Out nodded to that, “but once he took on his newer altmode, he redesigned those two components into one. The visor, the design, it’s function, those are all his ideas. I just built it to his specifications.”

_“You_ built it?” Fixit blinked to that, causing Knock Out to glare all the more.

“Wow, you_ really_ think I’m dumb, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that!”

_“Stop,”_ Ratchet commanded, and both mechs fell instantly silent. He furrowed his brow to Knock Out then. _“You_ built it. So, do you think you can fix it?”

Knock Out blinked to that, surprised Ratchet would even suggest such a thing. “You would _let_ me? Oh, how quickly we all forget that _I’m not a Medic._ But _now _you want my help?”

“And how quickly _you_ forget that your release is _dependent _upon your good behavior and a willingness to assist the Autobot cause, which this very much is. Besides, this isn’t a medical issue, this is a _parts_ issue. Convince him to let go of the visor so you can fix it, and the rest of us will focus on his internal needs.”

Knock Out eyed Ratchet for a moment before looking back to the screen. They had no idea how much they were asking for. And there was still one more issue they were completely overlooking. “What about Laserbeak? She’s fallen into stasis,” Knock Out tapped the monitor to pull up the results of the scan of the bird’s frame that was still securely attached to Soundwave’s chassis.

“Can’t we just remove her?” said First Aid as he stepped closer to view the screen as well, then he glanced up to Knock Out.

“Only if Soundwave is willing to release her,” Knock Out said as he looked between the three. “I know all you Autobots ever saw was the stealthy super-spy and eerily-quiet Soundwave, but what you have now is Soundwave at his worst, without a working visor or Megatron controlling him.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics as he shifted his gaze from the monitor back to Knock Out. “The level of control Megatron had over the Decepticons wasn’t a _good_ thing. _You know that. _You and I have spoken about that _several _times._”_

“Yes, but Soundwave _needs to be controlled_, to a certain extent. He needs routine, and a strong leader to point him in the right direction, and outlets to utilize his skills. The Decepticons gave him that. _Megatron_ gave him that,” Knock Out said as he returned the glare. “You think I’m making this up?”

Ratchet found all of that _very_ hard to believe, that Megatron had provided _any_ sort of stability to _any _bot, because one look at Starscream proved what the sadistic warlord was _really _capable of doing to a bot’s psyche. Ratchet kept those thoughts to himself however, and he rubbed his fingers against his furrowed brow. He _had _brought Knock Out out of stasis for this, so he supposed he ought to trust him with it. “No one thinks you’re making things up,” Ratchet said. “Do you think you can get the visor and Laserbeak off of him without him disrupting the neuro-circuits of every bot on this ship?”

Knock Out’s signature suddenly flooded with worry. What if he failed at this? What if Soundwave _did_ blast the entire ship with a frequency strong enough to devastate everyone onboard? Suddenly the weight of the outcome was pressing down on his shoulders, and he looked to Ratchet with genuine fear. “Will you hold it against me if I can’t?”

“No,” Ratchet was quick to state, and he tried to sound reassuring in response to Knock Out’s signature, “we’re only asking you to try.”

“And we can help you,” said First Aid added as he looked from Ratchet to Knock Out, “just tell us what you need.”

From shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, two sets of red optics peered out across the slowly recovering city of Iacon, their gazes settling on the remnants of the Nemesis. His black frame perfectly hidden in the shade under a thick slab of leaning permacrete, Ravage lifted his olfactory and pulled the air around him deep into his vents, analyzing the different particles and scents he found there. Although he did not find what he was looking for, he had not lost hope.

“He’s definitely on the ship,” Ravage said quietly, his optics focusing away from his internal HUD and back onto the Nemesis. “Not close enough to smell him yet, but that’s definitely where his ping is coming from.”

“So is she,” said Buzzsaw as her metallic wings twitched with anticipation. “There’s no homing beacon, but she’s in there with him, I can tell.”

Ravage gave a nod, then narrowed his optics down to the streets far below their hiding spot, up in the crumbling rafters of a building. “Primus, look at this place. Who in the Pit _are_ all these bots? No one’s wearing any badges. It’s _weird.”_

“Like before the war,” said Buzzsaw, cocking her head to one side to get a better look.

“Hmm. That’s not necessarily a good thing,” Ravage’s grumble sounded more like a growl. He stood up from his crouch, putting one paw in front of the other as he leaned forward to stretch out his spine. “We’ve wasted enough time. I’m going in after him.”

“Wait,” Buzzsaw quickly lumbered forward on her two clawed peds, blocking Ravage’s path with a yellow wing. “Let me get one last fly-over.”

Ravage rolled his optics as he shifted away from the bird, the tip of his tail flicking in annoyance. _“Why?_ You’ve circled that ship a dozen times already!”

“What if it’s a trap?”

“If the Autobots have managed to wrest Soundwave’s private comm line _and_ homing beacon codes from his databanks, then I _deserve _to be caught by them. Come on, Buzzy, you know they’re not _that_ smart.”

“_One_ more time,” Buzzsaw almost pleaded, and Ravage could feel her paranoia seeping from her EM field as she spoke. “One more, _then_ you can go.”

Ravage eyed Buzzsaw for a moment before he finally relented to her request, and he sat back down on his haunches as though to prove he would do as she asked. “Fine, but make it quick,” he said before he turned his glare to the endless stream of Transformers below them, “I don’t like the smell of these badgeless bots.” He huffed as Buzzsaw gave him a nod of approval, and watched as she spread her wings and took to the sky. It did not take long for her black and yellow form to become a small dot against the horizon as she headed for the Nemesis, activating her cloaking abilities as she flew.

First Aid raised an optical ridge to the item that Knock Out placed in his hands. It was a small purple sphere, with hundreds of tiny tentacles sticking straight out from its center. It felt oddly soft to the touch, like it was made of organic fur or hair. Like every other Decepticon habsuite on the Nemesis, the Autobots had long-since cleared Soundwave’s quarters of his belongings, boxed them up, and left them in one of the holding bays. Now, Knock Out stood before one of the three open crates as he searched through their contents, pulling out seemingly random items every so often and handing them down to First Aid, who was stacking them on the M.A.R.B. beside him.

First Aid had been trying not to ask too many questions about the items while he watched Knock Out root through the crates. He could sense Knock Out’s apprehension and stress over the situation, even though Knock Out was doing his best to keep his EM field close. First Aid had not asked Knock Out much about _anything _since they had woken him from stasis, despite his lingering worry that all of this might be too much for the ex-‘Con to handle. He was aware of the mental state Knock Out had been in before going into stasis, Bumblebee had told him, but he knew now was not the time nor the place to bring it up. Likewise, he did not want to go prying into Knock Out’s past as a Decepticon onboard the Nemesis, but his curiosity about the items being pulled from the crates finally got the better of him as he blinked down at the almost-fuzzy ball in his hands.

“Where did _this_ thing come from?” he asked as he eyed it warily.

“Zentari-57. I think it might have been alive, once,” said Knock Out, his head low inside the crate as he picked through the items inside it.

“Oh dear,” First Aid blinked to that and carefully set the ball down on the M.A.R.B. He then reached for the folded mesh blanket Knock Out dropped into his servos, only he was not expecting it to weigh so much. It was so heavy that First Aid nearly fell over as he strained to add it to the collection of items on the M.A.R.B. “Oof! What the heck is _this!?”_

“A lead-lined tarp. If Soundwave puts it over his helm, it can block some of the data from entering his processor, to a certain extent.”

First Aid picked up a corner of the tarp, flipping it over to look at the other side. “Oh, that’s a good idea! Did Soundwave design this too?”

Knock Out shook his helm as he moved from one crate to another. “No, I did,” he said, shifting the items in the second crate around before he removed a thin box, which he offered to First Aid.

“And this?” First Aid asked as he dared to open the box and peek inside, revealing rows and rows of small compartments, each filled with tiny, multi-colored trinkets: Screws, nuts, bolts, moon rocks and other unidentifiable organic objects that First Aid did not recognize.

“A sorting puzzle,” Knock Out said as he moved to the third and final crate. “Soundwave likes to pick through the contents and sort them all out by size or color, or whatever. I’m not sure why. But it keeps him busy, and we’ll need to keep him distracted while the visor is being repaired, trust me.”

“Did you make this, too?” First Aid said as he scanned the rows of little charms before closing the box and setting it down.

“Yes, but Soundwave’s added pieces to it since I gave it to him. Hell knows where he got half that slag from.”

First Aid looked to the growing pile of items on the M.A.R.B., and though his mask hid it, a smile spread across his face. “This is really nice of you. You made him all these things, to help him, to make him feel better,” he said as he looked back to Knock Out. “That’s really nice.”

Knock Out paused in his search for a moment and raised a brow over his shoulder to First Aid, though his look was quickly replaced with a roll of his optics before he turned back to the crate. “I was tired of dealing with Soundwave’s _meltdowns_ whenever his visor had a malfunction. I had to figure out what would keep him calm whenever it needed to be fixed. I was just trying to keep him from killing us all.”

First Aid was not surprised that Knock Out did not consider his collection of projects for Soundwave’s benefit to be a “nice” gesture, but Knock Out’s response changed First Aid’s train of thought completely, and a little surge of worry flickered through his EM field. “…Can he really do that? Do you really think he could just...kill us all with the right frequency?”

“Is it really worth the risk to assume he _can’t?_ You know they say that Outliers only become more powerful with time, and it’s been a really, _really _long time.”

“How many times have you had to fix his visor?”

“Since building it?” Knock Out stood up from leaning over the crate as he thought. “About six, but I didn’t always have to remove it to fix it, luckily.”

“Does he ever _willingly_ take it off?”

“I don’t know,” Knock Out shook his head and went back to rooting through the crate with both hands. “Maybe when he was alone in his quarters? I never saw him do it.”

Nodding to that, First Aid recalled some of the data he had read from Soundwave’s medical files as he tried to get a better idea of the mech’s mental state. “Does he ever speak with his own vocalizer anymore? I only heard it once, back when he’d been captured by us, right before the end of the war.”

Knock Out narrowed his optics to that. He remembered when Soundwave had returned to the Nemesis after Laserbeak had helped him escape from the Autobot base during the last few stellarcycles of the war. He remembered the recordings Soundwave had played for Megatron, of the Autobots threatening to use “less civilized means” to get information from Soundwave when he refused to reveal anything during their interrogation. Soundwave had simply erased his own hard drives and shut himself down before the Autobots could obtain anything (thankfully, he had had back-ups of all that data on the Nemesis). But the Autobots had _threatened_ torture, Knock Out knew that, and he had not forgotten it, especially now, when he himself was serving time under their watch for torturing Autobots and humans. No, he had definitely _not_ forgotten it.

“Soundwave rarely speaks,” Knock Out finally replied, mentioning nothing of his previous thoughts to First Aid. “Megatron liked to tell bots Soundwave had taken a ‘vow of silence’, but that’s not true. What _really_ happened, _I_ think, is that he just slowly lost the ability to verbalize anything at all. Then the new visor gave him the capability to record everything around him, and now he just plays back whatever words he’s stored into his databanks through the speakers in his helm. He doesn’t need to use his own vocalizer anymore. The visor is great, sure, but sometimes I think it’s a bit of a crutch,” he said with a shrug.

“Did you ever try working with him so that he might use his own vocalizer more often?”

“No,” Knock Out shook his head, “I didn’t have the time, and I don’t think Megatron would have seen that as a priority.”

First Aid nodded in understanding to that, and he considered all that Knock Out had said before responding. “I can’t imagine how Soundwave managed _before_ he had the visor, even the old one.”

“He didn’t manage very well, I can tell you that,” said Knock Out, as he moved some more items around in the crate, “Although back then, he had all his Cassettecons with him. They helped him somewhat, I was told. Ah-hah, h_ere_ it is,” he said with a small smirk as he turned to First Aid and held up a half-visor that was quite similar in shape to the blue one First Aid wore now, though this one was clear, with a slight tint of amber color. “Back-up visor.”

Taking the visor in his hands, First Aid eyed it critically and then set it on the M.A.R.B. “What do you plan to do with all of this stuff?”

Knock Out shut the lid on the crate, then shrugged as he moved to the other two to shut them as well. “Use it to convince Soundwave to detach Laserbeak, swap out his current visor for the back-up one, keep him calm and occupied while we make the necessary repairs. Pray to Primus he doesn’t permanently frag my brain waves while I’m at it.”

First Aid winced to that a bit, unconsciously wringing his hands together with worry. “Yeah. Look, not that I think it would be the_ best_ method, but…have you thought about trying to slip Soundwave a sedative injection while you’re with him? If we could put him under for just a little while, this would probably be easier on him _and_ us.”

“Oh, it would,” Knock Out agreed, “I tried that the _first_ time I had to remove his visor when he was being…less than compliant, but he’s so in tune with our electromagnetic fields and everything else about us, I think he read my mind. He sensed I was up to something the nano-klick I stepped into the room,” he shook his head as he stepped to M.A.R.B. “It…didn’t go well,” Knock Out said, though he did not get more specific than that. He stared in silence at the objects on the M.A.R.B. before shrugging once more. “I shouldn’t have broken his trust; it took me mega-cycles to gain it back,” he glanced to First Aid then. “I’m not going to do that again. He barely trusts me now as is.”

Frowning, First Aid crossed his servos as he recalled what Ratchet and Knock Out had spoken of before, back in the Medbay. “It’s really horrible that Sentinel Prime had the Jhiaxian Academy destroyed. If Soundwave had been able to stay…,” he started, but he let that idea trail off, because there was no use in speculating now, not after four million megacycles.

“…he might have ended up an Autobot?” Knock Out completed the sentence for First Aid anyway, clearly following the Medic’s line of thinking. “Maybe. I don’t know. Would the Autobots really have been willing to put up with all of Soundwave’s idiosyncrasies?”

“Of _course_ we would,” First Aid looked slightly insulted that Knock Out would ever assume otherwise, “_And _Optimus Prime wouldn’t have resorted to violence to keep him in line the way Megatron did with the Decepticons.”

Knock Out scoffed to that, but First Aid did not miss the slight hint of resentment in Knock Out’s signature when he spoke. “Psh, Megatron _never_ raised a hand to Soundwave. He knew Soundwave had no control over the way he behaves, plus his abilities _far_ outweigh his internal issues. In Megatron’s optics, the rest of us were blathering idiots compared to him,” Knock Out shook his helm then, angry for a moment before he vented a sigh and released the glide lock on the M.A.R.B. so that he could push it towards the exit. “This is everything. Let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Units of Time used in this story:  
Nano-klick: 1 second  
Klick: 1.2 minutes  
Cycle: 1 day  
Deca-cycle: 3 weeks  
Stellar-cycle: 1.7 months  
Mega-cycle: 13 Earth months  
Vorn: 83 Earth years


	4. The Visor

“Why do I have to go in there with you?” First Aid asked for the third time as he walked alongside Knock Out, who was pushing the M.A.R.B. as the two followed Ratchet and Fixit down the hallway towards the storage room.

“Because Ratchet is a cranky afthole, and Fixit’s face is blue and looks weird, and I don’t want him upsetting Soundwave any more than he already has,” Knock Out replied.

“Hey!” Fixit yelled as he turned to glare back at Knock Out, “I heard that!” but Ratchet merely shrugged at Knock Out’s analysis of his personality and said nothing. He wasn’t going to deny it.

“And you’re small and unassuming and, if we’re lucky, Soundwave will appreciate your calming signature,” Knock Out said, ignoring Fixit completely.

“I don’t feel very calm right now…”

“Relax,” Knock Out waved a hand, “I _highly_ doubt he’ll hurt you. Hang on, though,” he slowed his steps and reached out with his right hand to dig his pointy fingers around First Aid’s Autobot badge, which he yanked right off the chest plates of his armor. First Aid was about to protest, but Knock Out shoved the badge into the smaller bot’s hands. “Best to leave this off when we go in, it might make you a target.”

First Aid blinked to the badge, then slowly tucked it away into one of his chest compartments. “See, you say things like that, and then I think it’s probably better I stay out here.”

“All you need to do is bring Laserbeak back to the Medbay once we get Soundwave to release her from his frame,” Knock Out said as they neared the door to the storage room and the two guards still dutifully watching it.

“What about you?” Fixit said, eyeing Knock Out like he was unsure of this plan.

“I’ll stay with Soundwave and work on removing the visor. It might take a while.”

Ratchet paused beside the door, looking unsure as well. “How long?”

Used to the questioning looks by now, Knock Out glared in return. “That’s up to Soundwave.”

“{I expect you to report in every hour},” Ratchet’s voice suddenly chimed in Knock Out’s inner audials. He had forgotten he’d opened the inner-comm channel with the older Medic last megacycle, and it startled him for a moment to hear Ratchet’s voice without seeing his lips move. Ratchet stared at Knock Out before he vented a sigh and spoke out loud once more. “Don’t forget to plug in the M.A.R.B. and set it to recharge mode.”

Knock Out gave a nod, then eyed First Aid at his side, debating with himself for a nano-klick before he sent him his own inner-comm request. He was surprised when First Aid accepted it immediately. “{Not that having a personal comm link will help, since Soundwave can probably hear our thoughts anyway, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt},” Knock Out said as he readied the M.A.R.B.

“{Can he _really_ read people’s minds?}” First Aid sent in return, now eyeing the storage room door like death might be lying in wait behind it.

“{That’s what they say},” Knock Out gave a final shrug before nodding to Fixit, who opened the door, and the pair stepped over the threshold.

One of the few unbroken light sources in the room flickered for a moment as Knock Out and First Aid pulled the M.A.R.B. in behind them. Knock Out quickly shifted his gaze around the darkened room as he knelt down to unhook the charging cable from the M.A.R.B. and plug it into the nearest energy outlet he could find. He could sense First Aid’s unease almost immediately, the smaller mech already searching the room’s shadows with his own gaze.

“{Where is he?}” First Aid sent through the inner-comm.

“{He was in the back corner, last time I was in here},” Knock Out said as he slowly moved forward, stepping around a stack of crates. “Soundwave—” he said out loud, only to be cut off by a familiar, audial-piercing scream. Almost instantly, both Knock Out and First Aid were forced to a knee by the sound, both mechs slapping their hands over their audials, and Knock Out tried to shout through the noise. “STOP! It’s just _me,_ for frag’s sake!”

“’You _lie!’”_ the screaming stopped so that Megatron’s very angry voice could be shouted at the two storage room invaders, causing Knock Out to cringe all the more, though he still pressed on.

“Alright, so it’s me _and_ First Aid, but we—” the screeching started up again, but this time Knock Out braved the noise to grab a bottle of Energon off the M.A.R.B. and shove it into First Aid’s hands. “We brought you some more Energon! Do you want it, or not!?”

The screaming frequency slowly lowered in pitch until it turned into a garble of seemingly random klicks and sound bites. Taking that as a good sign, Knock Out carefully made his way towards the back of the room, almost literally dragging First Aid along with him as he held him under one servo.

First Aid, still clutching the bottle of Energon in both hands, reluctantly moved alongside Knock Out, half-expecting his brain node to simply implode inside his head at any moment from any given sound. But once they finally came across Soundwave, still huddled in a corner with his sharp knees drawn up and his arms over his helm like a frightened Sparkling, the Medic’s sympathetic tendencies made him forget most of his fear. It did not matter that Soundwave had been a sworn enemy for four million megacycles, First Aid could not bear the sight of him suffering as he was, and his EM field instantly filled with consolation for the bot.

“Here, see?” Knock Out stopped well out of Soundwave’s reach, watching him closely. “It’s just First Aid. Look at him, he’s harmless.”

Soundwave gave no indication he was visually looking at First Aid. The grumbling sounds from his helm speakers suddenly went silent for several nano-klicks before a new voice recording played back at them; the sounds were all chirps and whistles: Bumblebee, before his vocalizer had been fixed. “’Why are you doing this? Why hand First Aid over like that? Was it really just for the Phase Shifter?’” and then Knock Out’s voice responded, “’He would have never made it on the Nemesis, Bumblebee. Megatron…the others…they would have eaten him alive. First Aid’s just too…innocent. He’s too _good_.’”

Knock Out flicked his gaze back and forth between Soundwave and First Aid, the Medic blinking up to Knock Out in question. First Aid had already been pulled through the Groundbridge by Arcee when Bumblebee and Knock Out had that conversation the cycle Knock Out traded the Medic to Autobots for the Phase Shifter. Laserbeak had been there as well, cloaked and spying on the transaction, unbeknownst to them all. That was how Soundwave had the audio recordings now.

“Well, it’s true,” Knock Out finally released First Aid’s servo as he glared to Soundwave, gesturing to the Medic with both hands, “he _is_ the nicest one.”

“’And you felt this was a reasonable trade? A Medic for an Iacon relic?’” asked Megtron’s voice. “’That was not your decision to _make,_ Knock Out,” Soundwave slowly lowered one hand from his visor, and he turned his helm to face the two now as Knock Out’s panicky voice emitted from his speakers. “’He wouldn’t have lasted _single cycle,_ my Lord! He was too weak! He would not have served you well, I swear! Let the Autobots have him, it gives them no advantage!’”

“Alright, that’s enough, we get the idea,” Knock Out said with a glare, embarrassment creeping into his signature at the sound of his own voice, which he felt made _him_ sound like the weak one.

”’I’m sorry!” Knock Out’s own voice cried back at him, his vocalizer clearly strained from pain. “’I’m sorry, my Lord! _Please!’”_

First Aid gaped behind his mask. He’d always wondered if Megatron ever found out what Knock Out had done; in truth, he had been afraid to ask, and the implications from the recording were precisely why. A wave of sorrow and sympathy suddenly filled the room as First Aid clutched his free hand to his chest plates, because his spark ached at the thought of Knock Out being harmed for keeping him from Megatron’s clutches. “Knock Out, I’m _so—” _

“Shut up and have your drink,” Knock Out snapped, and even though the words were meant for Soundwave, he was looking directly at First Aid as he said them when he jerked the bottle of Energon from his hand. Knock Out unscrewed the cap and shoved the bottle towards Soundwave, who grabbed for it immediately.

“’Too innocent; too good; too weak. Too innocent; too good; too weak,’” Knock Out’s voice played on repeat as Soundwave shifted the bottle to his side to insert his feeding conduit into the Energon, once again silently analyzing the contents before actually bringing the fuel up into his system.

“If you’re _quite finished,”_ Knock Out growled to Soundwave, ignoring the lingering ripples of empathy pouring off of First Aid beside him, “we need to talk about your visor.”

“’Fixit,’” Soundwave replied with Fixit’s voice.

Knock Out crossed his servos, now wondering what the best way to go about this was, and silently hoping that Soundwave would be compliant. “I will, but Laserbeak also needs to be fixed. She’s worn out. She needs to be refueled and recharged. Before I can fix your visor, I want you to give her to me, so First Aid and I can help her,” he said, but when he saw Soundwave clutch at Laserbeak with one hand and whine, Knock Out sighed. “She needs help. First Aid is going to take her to the Medbay, and as soon as she’s well, he’ll bring her right back. Won’t you?” he lifted a brow to First Aid.

“*Ahem* Yes,” First Aid said, finally shaking himself free of the guilt he felt for what Megatron had done to Knock Out, at least for the time being, “I will. She’s not doing so good right now, Soundwave,” he dared to take step closer, and he very carefully reached out with his EM field. He could tell right away that Soundwave was holding his own signature back, but he could still sense it faintly, filled with confusion and worry for the bird. “You can feel her pain, can’t you? I can help her, if you’ll let me,” First Aid took another step closer, his optics focused on where he assumed Soundwave’s were, hidden behind the broken visor.

What happened next was not something First Aid had ever experienced before. He felt as though he had suddenly come up against an invisible wall, an unseen force bumping up against his signature. He immediately took a step back again, but it was already too late. Soundwave’s EM field suddenly took hold of him, causing him to freeze in his tracks. He felt like his frame was being X-rayed; a wave of energy rippled through his circuitry. It was not painful, but it was definitely a bit invasive, as though his very mind was being scanned, but he could feel that the energy current was somehow projecting emotional elements as well. He could sense curiosity and wonder where he had been expecting anger or perhaps fear.

Though he was startled, First Aid slowly began to reach out to Soundwave with his own signature again, offering the mech what First Aid had always thought of as an electromagnetic “handshake”. Few bots First Aid had encountered in his life could recognize such a gesture, so he smiled behind his mask when he felt Soundwave accept.

Soundwave, though he had turned his helm away from the other two, now dropped the empty Energon bottle and put his hands on Laserbeak, where he drummed his fingers on her back for a moment before finally detaching her from his chest plates. “’Innocent. Good’,” Knock Out’s voice chimed from Soundwave’s embedded speakers once more, and he leaned forward to push Laserbeak into First Aid’s servos.

“Thank you,” First Aid said, both with his vocalizer and with his signature as he shifted Laserbeak’s still form in his arms, then glanced to Knock Out, who gave him a nod. “I’ll be back with her as soon as I can, as soon as she’s healthy,” he said to Soundwave, then he turned and headed for the Medbay.

Fully aware of what Soundwave must be doing when he saw First Aid go ridged, Knock Out said nothing. He had felt Soundwave’s body scan many times during his tenure with the Decepticons, and to this cycle he still wasn’t sure exactly what sort of data Soundwave was able to collect from it. He was glad though, that Soundwave had apparently seen the good in First Aid that Knock Out could as well. He’d been banking on that, actually, and he was thanking Primus that he was right. But now came the hard part.

“Do you want more Energon?” Knock Out asked once First Aid had left the room.

“’Fixit’,” Soundwave replied, his hands on his visor once more.

“Alright, but I need to examine it first. You need to let me inspect it, up close,” Knock Out slowly started forward. Soundwave was almost an entire meter taller than him, and stronger, and faster, and megacycles of knowing him had taught Knock Out to always approach him with caution. “I need to touch it, understand?” he held up both hands, and then winced when Soundwave suddenly reached out and grabbed both hands with his own and slapped them down on either side of his visor. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Knock Out muttered, but he would relent to Soundwave’s rough handling to get a closer look.

Carefully, Knock Out tilted Soundwave’s helm in various directions. He knew from the scan he had performed earlier the extent of the visor’s damage, but sometimes a physical assessment revealed things the data scanners had missed. The visor’s main screen display was completely dead. Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass surface, and where a hole had been punched clear through it all, the polarizing filters and liquid crystal were crumbling away in layers.

Venting a sigh, Knock Out shook his head as he eyed the jagged glass edges of the hole in the visor, where the purple light still glowed from underneath. “Soundwave…the visor is completely broken. I need to take it off to fix it,” he said, and he was not surprised when Soundwave whined and then pushed him away. Knock Out leaned back, away from Soundwave’s hands, though he held his ground. “I have to replace the glass in the screen entirely, surely you can see that.” But when Soundwave grabbed at his visor with both hands again and turned away, Knock Out stood and moved to the M.A.R.B., bringing back with him the amber-shaded half-visor that he had pulled from storage.

“Look, I brought this,” he held the visor up as he returned to Soundwave, who turned his helm back only slightly before hiding it under the wide, flat armor of his servos once more. “You don’t want it?” Knock Out asked, and he could not help but roll his optics when Soundwave’s shoulders slumped and he whined again. Knock Out had more patience for Soundwave than most, but that did not mean dealing with him wasn’t frustrating. “Let me take the broken visor off, and I’ll replace it with this one, for now. Okay?”

Knock Out lost track of time in his efforts to get close enough to Soundwave to get his hands on the broken visor again. It took a great deal of convincing and promises and persistence, but when Soundwave finally let him unhook the last clasp on the visor, Knock Out felt a little surge of pride at completing the task.

Careful not to crack the glass any further, Knock Out slowly lifted the entire front panel from Soundwave’s helm and set it off to the side. It had been several megacycles since he had seen Soundwave’s actual faceplates, and he cringed now at the sight of them, and the silver protoflesh sunken under Soundwave’s dimly-lit purple optics. The left side of his face was streaked with dried and fresh Energon where the fluid seeped from a narrow gash over his left optic. Some sort of dust or organic dirt had worked its way under the visor’s plating, and his entire face seemed to covered in it. Soundwave kept his gaze averted, staring blankly at something Knock Out was certain only Soundwave could see.

“How long has the visor been broken?” Knock Out asked, even though he knew he would get no response. He carefully picked away a few slivers of glass that had fallen into the neck trim of Soundwave’s helm armor under his jawline, then tried to get a closer look at the wound, but the mech immediately jerked away and shoved at Knock Out’s chest plates with a hand, though it was not hard. “I’ll have to clean that wound, you know,” Knock Out said in response to the push, shrugging to the groan Soundwave issued from his speakers. “You don’t want your faceplates to be permanently marred, do you?” he asked, then muttered to himself as he ran his thumb over the poor craftsmanship of a weld job First Aid had done to seal a wound on his own face a megacycle ago.

As though on cue, First Aid’s voice suddenly crackled to life through Knock Out’s personal comm line. “{Ratchet is telling me to ask you how it’s going in there},” First Aid said.

“{Slowly, but that’s to be expected},” Knock Out internally replied, eyeing Soundwave before he glanced to the visor at his peds. “{How’s Laserbeak?}”

“{We got her to stabilize pretty quickly. A few cycles on a recharge slab and some fluid replacement, and we should be able to bring her back online.}”

“{Thank Primus. I managed to remove Soundwave’s visor, but his face is a wreck. If you’re able to leave Laserbeak, could you come back and bring some swabs and a bottle of iso-cleanser?}” Knock Out asked. “{And a soldering gun.}”

“{Of course. Is it that bad?}”

“{He’s got a laceration on his forehelm, I think it’s from whatever punctured the visor},” Knock Out was doing his best to be subtle about the internal conversation he was having as he picked up the visor and turned it over in his hands. “{He probably won’t let me near him with the gun, but it’s worth a try. Oh wait},” his optics narrowed suddenly, “{I keep forgetting, I’m not _medically licensed_ to do _any_ of that. Maybe _you_ should try},” he challenged. There was a long pause on the line before First Aid replied.

“{Ratchet says he’ll allow you to do it this time.}”

“{Mm-hmm, I’ll bet},” Knock Out sent with sarcasm.

First Aid vented a sigh through the comm line before speaking again. “{I’ll be right there.}”

Knock Out did not reply, instead he rolled his optics as he set the visor back down. “First Aid is bringing something for your faceplates,” he told Soundwave out loud as he looked back up to him, only to be startled by the intense, unwavering stare the bot was giving him, his purple optics locked onto Knock Out’s reds. Knock Out blinked, unnerved by Soundwave’s gaze as he swore it was looking straight into his brain node. “You heard every word of that, didn’t you,” he said, then narrowed his optics. “Don’t give me that judgmental look. Like you didn’t know I wasn’t licensed,” he said with a huff before breaking Soundwave’s gaze and glancing elsewhere, grumbling as he continued the basically-one-sided conversation. “Of course _now_ the Autobots don’t care about it, not when it’s a _Decepticon _that needs treatment,” he said, then quickly raised a hand to Soundwave, who was still staring. “Not that I’m saying you need to _do _anything about that. The hypocrisy is just all so stereotypically Autobot, it’s ridiculous.”

Ultra Magnus’s voice suddenly boomed from the speakers in Soundwave’s headset, the sound much louder now that his helm had been removed. “’You’ve previously stated you wish to align yourself with our faction, to become an Autobot. Do you now still hold this desire?’” and then Knock Out’s voice followed, “’Yes, I do’.” Soundwave continued to stare at Knock Out with unblinking optics, his face emotionless.

“…You saw that, did you?” Knock Out raised a brow, though he refused to hold Soundwave’s gaze. He wondered what it must have been like, to watch his trial take place from the Shadowzone. He wondered if Soundwave had tried to stop it from happening, somehow, or simply watched and listened in silence, recording it all.

“’..I pledge my spark to the Decepticon cause’,” Knock Out’s voice said through the speakers, a line from the oath he had taken the cycle he swore his allegiance to the faction more than a million megacycles ago.

Knock Out scowled to Soundwave at that. “Look, the war is _over,_ we _lost._ I’m just trying to make things a little easier on myself, not that it _matters_ anymore after that trial,” he growled. “I’m screwed no matter _what_ faction I claim, and going Neutral won’t help, either. Primus knows I’ll never be able to set a ped on any street on Cybertron again without getting killed. I’m fragged. My life is completely fragged,” he said, shaking his helm at himself. He did not realize the despair and hopelessness he was projecting into his signature until he noticed Soundwave turn away, the bot bringing his slender fingers up to his faceplates as he shut his optics to hide behind his hands. Soundwave moaned then, with his own, actual vocalizer, and Knock Out knew that was a bad thing. He reigned in his EM field immediately.

“Okayokayokay, you’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Knock Out said, speaking of his signature as he now physically leaned away from Soundwave, both his hands raised. “I forgot, I’m sorry. It’s been a while, you know that.” He inwardly panicked for a moment, worried that his emotions might set Soundwave off, but suddenly the door across the room slid open, and First Aid walked in, carrying the items Knock Out had asked for. Knock Out braced himself for Soundwave’s incoming screaming frequency, but it never happened, and it left Knock Out wondering if the mech knew First Aid was the one at the door before he even entered.

“Here’s everything,” First Aid said as he neared, “Laserbreak is—Oh,” he stopped short, blinking when he saw Soundwave’s bare faceplates, despite the mech trying to hide them with his hands. He had always wondered what Soundwave looked like under the visor, but at the same time he appreciated the secrecy and safety of keeping one’s face hidden behind a mask, as he had one himself. “Uhh, Laserbeak is doing really well, Soundwave,” he continued as he moved closer, handing the bottle of cleanser and a swab to Knock Out. “I think she’ll come around pretty quickly. Just a few cycles, probably.”

“Thank you,” said Knock Out as he took the bottle, squeezing the solution inside it out onto the swab of material before he looked back to Soundwave. “Alright, listen: If you want me to fix your visor, you have to let me clean your face first,” he slowly reached out to Soundwave with one hand, to pry the bot’s fingers away from his faceplates.

Soundwave allowed one hand to be removed, but then immediately grabbed onto Knock Out’s hand with it as Knock Out clasped him under chin, though he did not try to push Knock Out away. Soundwave scrunched his face up, his optics still shuttered tightly, like he was barely able to tolerate being cleaned.

“Oh please, like this is so horrible,” Knock Out grumbled at the face Soundwave was making, “just hold sti—” he paused when Soundwave jerked his chin away, then waited a few nano-klicks before he reached for his face again and continued to wipe the material over his protoflesh. “Mech, your face is _filthy._ If you don’t let me clean it, that wound is going to rust, and you don’t want that, trust me.”

First Aid could honestly not believe what he was seeing. It was very hard for him to remember that the mech before him now, that was being so patient and gentle with a Decepticon had in fact been a Decepticon himself, known for deactivating bots for their parts, torturing humans, and physically beating Vehicons whenever he’d had too much high-grade. First Aid was not sure if he was now witnessing the _real_ Knock Out, or if the mech was simply putting on an act to get Soundwave to be compliant. But the longer First Aid watched, the more he was certain that everything was genuine, reasoning that Soundwave, of all bots, would have been the first to sense Knock Out’s lack of sincerity if that was the case. That, and Soundwave _let _Knock Out get close enough to touch him, and in fact clung to his servos in what First Aid assumed was some form of trust. It was not anything he had ever expected to see from two Decepticons _at all._

“There, see?” Knock Out said as he gave Soundwave’s forehelm a final wipe with the material. “That wasn’t so bad, right?” he then slowly cast a glance to First Aid. “{Did you bring the soldering gun?}” he asked via their shared comm line, even though he was sure Soundwave could hear it, but he still took the gun from First Aid as the mech pulled it from one of his chest compartments, and he flicked it on with his thumb. “I want to use this on one area,” he began, and when Soundwave pulled away, Knock Out grabbed both of Soundwave’s hands with his left and lowered them from his face. “Just _one spot,_ Soundwave. You’ll barely feel it, I promise.” Slowly, he lifted the gun to the wound above Soundwave’s left optic, and managed to seal almost the entire tear in the protoflesh before Soundwave suddenly lashed out with his elbow, striking Knock Out across the face so hard that he nearly fell over from his kneel in front of Soundwave. The soldering gun flew from his hand and slid across the floor into the shadows of the empty Energon crates surrounding them.

Wincing, First Aid instantly put his hands up to the mask shielding his face as he watched Knock Out barely catch himself with a hand on the floor. “Primus, are you okay!?” he asked, expecting a flare of anger from Knock Out’s signature, and he was surprised when he sensed none.

“It’s fine,” Knock Out slowly repositioned himself in front of Soundwave, eyeing the mech warily as he licked the Energon away from his own lips with his glossa. “I’m fine. I guess that’s enough. Here, let’s put this on you,” he picked up the smaller “back-up” visor from the floor and carefully brought it to Soundwave’s helm. Soundwave moved his hands from his face and grabbed the visor immediately, his optics focusing in on the small screen as he clicked the visor into place at the top of his helm.

“There. Is it working? Does it work?” Knock Out asked Soundwave before he glanced back to First Aid and shrugged. “I can’t remember the last time he integrated this piece of hardware into his system.” He turned back to Soundwave then, watching him trying but failing to get the visor to work properly. Soundwave then yanked it from his helm and pushed it into Knock Out’s hands.

“’Fixit’”.

“Damn,” Knock Out said with a vented sigh as he looked to the smaller visor, defeat seeping from his signature. “He’s had so many upgrades since I made this, it must not be compatible anymore.”

Soundwave turned away then, a wave of panic rippling through the air around Knock Out and First Aid as he pushed it through his EM field. He hunched his shoulders and tried to hide his face with his hands again, though now he dug his fingers into his protoflesh, wincing at some unseen source of pain that only he could sense. “’Fixit’,” the recording said, over and over again, “’Fixit, Fixit, Fixit’.”

“I _will,” _Knock Out said, “but I’m not going to start until I know you can sit here and be—” Knock Out paused when he saw Soundwave put his fingers into his own mouth and bite down on them, hard. Knock Out immediately grabbed for Soundwave’s hands with his own as he tried to pull Soundwave’s fingers free from his denta. _“Don’t_ do that, you know better.”

“’You’re not_ listening_ to me!’” Starscream’s voice wailed as Soundwave fought against Knock Out’s grip, eventually getting the upper hand as he grabbed Knock Out’s wrists, though instead of pushing them away, he pressed Knock Out’s palms against his brow as he closed his purple optics and released a low whine of frustration. “’Fixit’,” said Fixit’s voice, then he laced it together with Megatron’s, “’Fixit’. _‘Now!’”_

Soundwave had many different reactions when he was visor-less, and Knock Out had never quite figured out the reasoning behind any of them. Sometimes Soundwave just sat in a corner and wailed. Sometimes he clawed at his own faceplates and bit dents into his hands and fingers. Sometimes he played clips from his thousands of recordings on repeat for hours at a time. Megatron had hated _all_ of it, except when Soundwave was, on the rare occasion, completely still and silent. The Decepticon warlord had always blamed Knock Out for Soundwave’s erratic behavior when the visor was broken, so Knock Out had been forced to learn how to get Soundwave back into a somewhat calm and manageable demeanor, which meant doing basically anything that worked. Knock Out was not sure why Soundwave would sometimes grab him around the wrists and hold his hands over his faceplates, such as he was doing now. Maybe it was attempt to replicate the visor, maybe Soundwave _liked_ having someone else’s hands over his optics. Whatever the case, Knock Out had given up trying to make sense of it all ages ago and learned to just go with.

“I _am _listening to you,” Knock Out said quietly. “You want the visor fixed. I’ll fix it, but I’m not doing that until you can calm down. You’re getting yourself all worked up _already,_ and I haven’t even begun. You have to be brave,” Knock Out had quickly realized that the word “patient” when Soundwave was without his visor never went over well with him. But Soundwave _did _seem to always like the idea of being brave, and Knock Out reasoned that maybe Soundwave being patient while visor-less _was_ brave, so he’d stuck with that term. Still, sometimes he felt like he was working with a Sparkling. He hated treating Soundwave that way, but he was certain that Soundwave hated it even more, even though reasoning with the mech when he got in that state was near-impossible any other way.

Cringing as Soundwave began to tighten his grip around Knock Out’s fingers, Knock Out shifted his hands so that he could press his thumbs against Soundwave’s temples, because sometimes, for some reason, pressure there seemed to help. But when Soundwave chirped a warning of the high-pitched frequency from earlier in the cycle, just a nano-klick long, Knock Out knew this method was getting him nowhere. With a look of slight embarrassment at the realization that First Aid was witnessing all of this, Knock Out eyed the Medic again. “{Can you get the tarp from the M.A.R.B.?}”

“{Sure},” First Aid chimed back, with a signature that implied there was no need to feel embarrassed. He retrieved the heavy tarp from across the room, though he struggled to carry it on his own, all but dragging the thing back over to where the other two sat. Knock Out managed to pry one of his hands free from Soundwave’s grip to take one corner of the dark grey tarp and bring it closer for Soundwave to see.

“Here, do you remember this? Soundwave, look,” said Knock Out, and he put the corner of the tarp into Soundwave’s free hand as the mech finally opened his optics. Even though Soundwave’s gaze was focused elsewhere, there was instant recognition in what he was holding, and he suddenly crouched down and yanked the woven mesh over his frame, pulling every thin limb and servo underneath it until he looked like some forgotten vehicle hidden under a canvas in a human’s garage.

Knock Out leaned back and then stood, stepping away as Soundwave seemed to get himself settled, though he did nudge Soundwave with a ped once the other mech went still. “Hey, are you good now, or what?”

_“’Fine,’”_ said Starscream’s voice.

“Alright,” Knock Out rolled his optics as he leaned down to collect the bottle of iso-cleanser, soldering gun, and used swab. “I’ll be back later when the M.A.R.B. is done charging, and to give you an update on the visor.”

“’Be swift!’” said Megatron from under the tarp.

“Yes, my Lord,” Knock Out said, on purpose this time, as he gave Soundwave’s hidden form a little bow. Then he picked up the broken visor and nodded to First Aid, who lead the way towards the door.


	5. The Gift

It was late in the evening on Cybertron by the time Knock Out had multiple layers of Soundwave’s visor prepped and ready to be assembled. The process involved cutting raw materials from what was available in the supply stocks and then melting, pouring, or molding them into the proper shape. Knock Out had been surprised that the three Autobot Medics actually _let_ him do this, and that their previous offers to help had been genuine. Fixit and First Aid even volunteered to go searching for bioframe adhesive when it was discovered the Medbay had none, and so the two had gone off into the shanty town of grounded spaceships in search of it.

Under Ratchet’s escort, Knock Out returned to the storage room where Soundwave was being held twice, once to attempt to coax Soundwave onto the M.A.R.B. (once he moved it further into the room so that the mech might recharge), and then again hours later, to make sure Soundwave wasn’t plotting to destroy them all. Both times Soundwave had been oddly compliant, though he did not come out from under the tarp.

Knock Out had said nothing when First Aid recounted Soundwave’s actions and behavior to Ratchet and Fixit earlier that morning, the three of them then hemming and hawing for hours over what the mech’s inner malfunction could possibly be. Knock Out had always had his own theories, but he found himself doubting them now, in the presence of “real Medics”. He had not felt that level of doubt since his cycles at the Iacon Medical Academy, when he was still learning everything and constantly worried about looking like a fool if he asked too many questions or gave the wrong answers.

And now, as Knock Out sat at one of the workstations in his former Medbay, lacing fine wires into a grid with his fingers, the cycle’s events were finally starting to catch up with him. He was in no need of a recharge, and his tanks were nearly full, but so much brain node activity after several stellarcycles in stasis was overworking his processor, and he was exhausted. Still, if this had been like old times, when Megatron was still in charge, Knock Out would have worked straight through his exhaustion until the visor was finished, so he had every intention of doing that now. The sooner Soundwave had a working visor, the better.

It was not until Ratchet came to stand by his side that Knock Out paused in his work. Knock Out watched Ratchet’s critical optics looking over the layers of glass and plytex and liquid crystal all set out in a row on the counter, the old Medic raising a hand to rub at his square chin as he silently judged the work. A small flare of worry coursed through Knock Out’s signature, and he did not hide it well.

“What will you do with him?” Knock Out asked, holding Ratchet’s gaze when he finally turned to look at him. “What will happen to Soundwave once his visor is fixed?”

Ratchet continued to rub at his chin, his own gaze flicking to the fiber-optics in Knock Out’s hands. He mulled his response over carefully before replying. “He’s Megatron’s Chief Communications Officer. He’ll be brought up on charges and stand trial, just like you did.”

“You can’t do that,” Knock Out was quick to respond. “You see how he is. He’s not _fit_ to stand trial! He’s mentally defective!”

“Oh, so _now_ you say he’s mentally defective?” Ratchet said as he crossed his servos. He agreed with Knock Out, but he wanted it noted that the bot had changed his tune as the cycle had progressed, in case Knock Out didn’t realize it himself. “What happened to Soundwave being smarter than all of us put together? What happened to Megatron cultivating his ‘special abilities’ and providing him with guidance?”

“He_ is_ smarter than all of us, and Megatron _did_ do those things, but Soundwave would have followed _any_ bot who gave him those opportunities!” Knock Out said as he glared and began to carefully remove his fingers from the wire mesh he was weaving. “Primus, he was following the _Autobot way_ until Sentinel Prime shut down the Jhiaxian Academy!”

Ratchet shook his head. “I’m not a psychologist, or a neurologist. First Aid is a General Physician and Fixit is a Combat Medic. _None of us_ can say what’s _really_ wrong with him, we’re not mental health specialists, it’s not our area of expertise.”

“But you know_ something_ is wrong! You all talked about it half the cycle! First Aid saw it with his own optics!”

“Yes,” Ratchet vented a sigh, “yes, there’s definitely something wrong.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what _I_ think it is,” Knock Out grabbed a data pad from the counter and searched through one of its many manuals until he found what he was looking for. Screw staying silent. He didn’t expect Ratchet to take him seriously, but no one could say he hadn’t tried. _“This,”_ he shoved the data pad at Ratchet, “I think it’s this. He exhibits all the signs and symptoms. He always has.”

Taking the data pad in both hands, Ratchet skimmed through the screens as he read and he lifted a brow. “Sensory Distortion Disorder…I suppose it’s possible,” he shrugged.

“Whatever it is, it messes with his brain node, you _know_ this. He can’t be put on trial, it’s not ethical.”

“And what do you expect _me_ to do about it?” Ratchet asked, shrugging again as he set the data pad aside.

“You sit on the Council,” said Knock Out, giving Ratchet a look that said _“Duh!”._ _“Tell_ them. Tell the others he’s not fit to stand trial.”

Ratchet vented a sigh again, glancing away as he contemplated the possibility. “…I can recommend to the Council that a psychological evaluation by a licensed professional is necessary before proceeding with Soundwave’s trial. We’ll still have to keep him behind bars,” he said, then glanced back to Knock Out and quickly held up a hand when it appeared that the ex-‘Con was about to protest_. _“Prowl and Ultra Magnus will never allow Soundwave to go free, and quite frankly, neither will I. _So_, until we can find an appropriate analyst to perform the evaluation, I will _suggest_ the trial be put on hold.”

Knock Out cupped his hands over his brow. “Fine. That’s fine. Just…just try to show them that Soundwave isn’t your average bot. He’s different. He’s different and it’s not his fault,” Knock Out flicked his red gaze to Ratchet then with an almost pleading look. “It was _never_ his fault.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ratchet said, giving a final shrug. “Some of the Councilmembers knew Soundwave before the war. They might agree with you.”

“You know,” Knock Out said as he set his mismatched hands back on the counter, “before the war started, he didn’t have any sort of mask or visor. Nothing to cancel out any of the incoming data streams. He had no real function because he couldn’t hold down a job; all that constant energy interference made him nuts. He was homeless. He lived in the gutters like a glitchrat.”

Ratchet lifted a brow to that. “I see. Did you know him back then?”

“No,” Knock Out shook his head, “but that’s what Laserbeak told me. That’s how she and Buzzsaw and Ravage found him, muttering to himself on some ledge overlooking a back alley like he was about to jump. They saved him,” he shrugged, and he cast a glance to Laserbeak then, still in stasis on one of the medslabs. “You should probably tie her down. I imagine she’s going to be pretty angry when she comes to.”

“I’ll have First Aid and Fixit devise some restraints when they get back,” Ratchet nodded to the suggestion, and he eyed Knock Out’s work one more time before turning back to him. “It’s getting late. Stop now, and you can continue working on this tomorrow.”

Knock Out shifted a worried glance to the side. “We’re going back to Earth, then?” he asked, hopeful.

“No, I’ll escort you to a cell here,” said Ratchet as he reached up to shut off the lights that hung over the counter. “We’ve been trying to be conservative with the Spacebridge jumps in the past few stellarcycles, to save on Energon.”

A little chill ran up Knock Out’s spinal struts. He had no desire to go down to the brig, where practically anyone could come to his cell and bother him for whatever reason they liked. He did not trust the guards to keep unwanted visitors out, and there were too many bots on this planet that surely wanted words with him that he did not want to hear: Prowl, Metalhawk, the Vehicons, _Smokescreen._

“Let me stay in the room with Soundwave,” Knock Out said with an almost pleading tone as he looked back to Ratchet, and he held up a hand when Ratchet gave him a doubtful look in return. “If you want to keep him as quiet as he’s been for the past five hours, I should be in there with him. I know how to handle him, I can recognize the signs when he’s getting agitated and correct them,” _to a certain extent._ “You have guards posted at the door; I can’t _go_ anywhere. I _won’t _go anywhere.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics on Knock Out for a few nano-klicks before finally giving a nod. “Alright, I’ll allow it. You still have my inner-comm line open, so call if you need anything or if Soundwave gets…restless overnight. One of us will come get you in the morning.”

After escorting Knock Out back to the storage room, Ratchet was just contemplating retiring for the evening himself when he received an internal message from Prowl to meet him. He had been expecting such a message from the Autobot’s best strategist and, technically, highest-ranking Autobot among them. Ratchet was still unsure as to why Prowl, being one of the longest-serving members of the faction, had not already attempted to oust Ultra Magnus from his position as Commander of Cybertron, but he knew better than to ask. With an inward sigh, Ratchet diverted from his path to his temporary quarters, and made his way toward Prowl’s office.

Prowl rarely powered down, a fact that Ratchet was well aware of, so he was not surprised that the mech was still up at such a late hour when he was finally standing before him, the bot seated comfortably behind his desk. The two mechs eyed one another in silence for several nano-klicks before Prowl broke the ice.

“I really wish that just once, we could talk without you analyzing my health and operational status with your optics,” said Prowl as leaned back in his chair.

“Force of habit,” Ratchet replied, and he even offered a faint smile, which was not returned, but he was not surprised by that, either.

“I want an update on this Soundwave issue,” said Prowl, lacing his fingers together before him.

Ratchet shrugged, eyeing one of the chairs beside him, though he did not take it. He didn’t want to stay for long. “He’s calmed down some. We’re in the process of fixing his visor. It’s complicated.”

“You’re in the process of fixing his visor?” Prowl said as he lifted a brow. “The visor that lets him _operate the Spacebridge remotely?”_

“Safeguards will be put in place to insure he doesn’t have access to the Spacebridge network.”

“Have you notified the Communication’s Officer about this?”

“I have. Blaster and his crew are working in conjunction with the Cybersecurity Team to produce plenty of firewalls and data barriers that should prevent Soundwave from gaining control of the Spacebridge.”

Prowl did not look convinced, as he canted his helm to side. _“‘Should’_ prevent?”

“_Will_ prevent,” Ratchet corrected himself.

“I think you should leave the visor off,” said Prowl as he looked to the data pads stacked on top of his desk, a mountain of “paperwork” he had yet to sort through.

“No,” Ratchet said simply, and he shrugged when Prowl gave him a look at that response. “He needs it to function properly. He’s different. _You know that,_ Prowl. You knew him before the war, when you were stationed under Sentinel Prime. Weren’t you overseeing the mines back then, the one they had Soundwave working in after they shut down the Jhiaxian Academy?”

“Yes, I was,” Prowl confirmed, though he did not see why that mattered. “Soundwave _did_ work in one of the mines before the war, _before _he had the ability to remotely access Spacebridges and shatter all our optical lenses with his vocalizer. He’s dangerous, Ratchet. We’re risking the entire ship’s crew by letting him sit in that storage room, attempting to access Primus-knows-how-many databases.”

“His data-transmission appendages have both been damaged; he won’t be able to access any of the ship’s systems without them. With the ship’s engines no longer operational, it’s not capable of flight anyway. And Soundwave has stopped that infernal screaming nonsense since we brought Knock Out onboard.”

“Knock Out had better not be treating Soundwave in any medical capacity.”

“I never said he was,” Ratchet replied, raising a brow to that insinuation, but he did not confirm or deny it either way.

“What is he _doing,_ then?” Prowl returned the look, his annoyance clear in his signature.

“Keeping Soundwave quiet, and assisting in the rebuilding of his visor.”

Prowl narrowed his blue optics for a moment before slowly crossing his servos over his chest. He quietly weighed the pros and cons of keeping Knock Out on the ship for such a task, and in the end, decided it was worth the perceived risk. “You need to install an I/D Chip (Inhibitor/Deterrence Chip) into Soundwave as soon as possible.”

“I was already planning on it; I understand he needs to be controlled.”

“Good,” Prowl said as he reached out to take the first data pad off the stack on his desk, “make sure I get a code to it.”

“Of course. Was there anything else?” Ratchet left out the “Sir” at the end, though that sort of thing had never bothered Prowl, at least not coming from him.

“That’s all,” Prowl waved him out, but then raised his voice upon recalling one more thing. “Wait— when you go back to Earth, can you _please_ remind the Vehicons stationed there, _again,_ to stop addressing me, Ultra Magnus, Ironhide, Rodimus, or _any other member_ of Autobot Command as ‘Lord’ in their stellarcycle mining reports? That’s public information, and I don’t want the NAILs getting in an uproar thinking we’ve freed the Vehicons only to enslave them for our own purposes. The Vehicons’ choice of words is making us look bad.”

Ratchet paused in the doorway to that, blinking back to Prowl in question. “I’m sorry, the what? _‘NAILs’?”_

“Non-Aligned Indigenous Lifeforms,” said Prowl, his optics now scanning the data pad he held before him. “The Neutrals.”

_“That’s_ what they’re calling themselves now?”

“No, that’s what _we’re_ calling them now.”

“Seems kind of rude.”

_“Rude_ is three-quarters of them refusing to take part in rebuilding our infrastructure, ignoring the basics of the Cybertronian social contract, and refusing to listen to any bot other than Metalhawk. _That’s_ rude.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Ratchet smirked.

Prowl peered over the top of his data pad. “It’s like...what’s that Earth term? It’s like herding galactocats.”

“Hmm, well I don’t envy you. Any word from Bumblebee?”

“He’s still working with Rodimus on brokering a peace treaty between the Cosmic-Six and the Dead Moon Rising, _both_ NAIL groups, I might add. They’re both trying to lay claim to Ky-Alexia when they have no damn right to claim _anything_ on this planet,” Prowl said with a huff as he turned back to the data pad in his hand.

“Well, you know _that’s_ not true, but I’m too old and tired to have that conversation with you again,” now it was Ratchet’s turn to wave Prowl off as the Medic finally left the room. For the first time in a while, Ratchet found he was actually glad to still be stationed on Earth.

And in the darkened air ducts that ran the length of the ceiling above Prowl’s office, Ravage twitched his ears.

Knock Out was not at all surprised to find Soundwave still under the lead-lined tarp when Ratchet escorted him back into the storage room and essentially locked him in for the evening. Soundwave gave no indication that he heard or even cared that Knock Out had returned, though Knock Out was quite sure the mech knew he was back in the room with him the instant he crossed the threshold.

“All the pieces of your visor have been cut and molded, now it’s just a matter of binding them together,” Knock Out spoke of his work to the shape sitting on the M.A.R.B. under the tarp, and when he received no response he could not help but glare, despite everything he knew of Soundwave’s condition, and that the bot only responded when he felt like it.

Feeling defeated despite all he had accomplished that cycle, Knock Out stepped to the M.A.R.B. and slumped down to sit on the floor beside it. He stared at the metal flooring between his peds for a moment, considering his current situation. It was odd to think that the once infallible Decepticon forces had come down to the two of them locked in a storage closet. Shifting his gaze to Soundwave’s form, Knock Out quickly realized that he might not have much time left with the mech, once the visor was fixed and the Autobots put him behind bars. He highly doubted they would allow the pair of them to be held in adjoining cells on the Nemesis, or Earth.

His mind now filling with questions he knew he might never get another chance to ask, Knock Out suddenly stood back up and stepped onto the M.A.R.B. Lifting one end of the tarp, he sat down and scooted himself underneath it, so that he sat face-to-face with Soundwave, less than a meter away. The combination of their red and purple optics and biolights was the only source of light under the makeshift blanket. Even without the pointy tines of his helmet, Soundwave was still a meter taller than Knock Out, so when Knock Out entered the cave-like atmosphere under the tarp, the sharp point of his own helmet had plenty of clearance below the mesh fabric.

Knock Out noticed immediately that Soundwave had found the purple sphere he had pulled from the crates earlier and was now petting its furry surface with one hand while cradling it in another. Even despite Knock Out sitting on the M.A.R.B. and invading his personal space, Soundwave’s gaze, a blank stare into the darkness the tarp provided, never wavered; he didn’t so much as blink, not even when the tarp was lifted.

Now that he was under the tarp as well, Knock Out could hear and recognize the recorded noise that was emanating from Soundwave’s helm speakers: It was the hum of the engines running on the Nemesis. Knock Out sat and listened for a moment, realizing that the sound was in fact soothing, even to him, even though most thoughts of this ship and everything that had occurred on it, everything that he’d done on it, gave him severe anxiety. He sat and listened to the hum of the engines for several klicks before finally speaking.

“Soundwave,” he began, and paused as he wondered why he was even trying, but he had to ask. He had to ask, because no one else would know the answer, “Soundwave, where’s Airachnid? Which moon did you send her to?” Knock Out waited patiently for a response, but Soundwave did not so much as acknowledge Knock Out’s presence to begin with. He simply continued to pet the furry sphere, and said nothing.

Knock Out could not help but hang his helm in disappointment, but he decided to try another line of questioning. “Do you know where Megatron or Starscream went after the final battle? Did you follow either of them while you were in the Shadowzone?” he asked, raising both brows as he looked back up to Soundwave, but again there was no reply, no indication that he was even heard at all. With a vented sigh, Knock Out hung his head once more, and he raised his left hand to rub at his helm. _“Fine._ Don’t tell me. It’s not like any of it matters anymore,” he grumbled, but then he startled when Soundwave dropped the fuzzy purple ball onto the surface between them to grab Knock Out’s left hand with both of his own. Soundwave turned his emotionless stare to Knock Out’s hand, the one that Ratchet had built and fitted him with last megacycle, then he grabbed Knock Out’s right hand and compared the two.

“What?” Knock Out asked. “You saw them this morning while I was working on you. I _know _the fingers don’t match, you don’t have to point it out to me,” his optics narrowed slightly at Soundwave’s perceived judgement, but Soundwave only turned Knock Out’s hands over in his own before he released Knock Out’s left hand so that he could pet the right one with his exceptionally long fingers, much as he’d been petting the furry sphere.

Refraining from rolling his optics, Knock Out let himself be subjected to the petting; at least Soundwave was calm. “I can’t believe you haven’t powered down yet, honestly,” he said, flicking his gaze back up to Soundwave’s. “Aren’t you exhausted? _I’m_ exhausted and I just woke up from a six stellarcycle nap.”

“’Pretty bot’,” Breakdown’s deep voice was suddenly brought back to life through Soundwave’s speakers, though Soundwave continued to stare blankly at Knock Out’s hand. “’You’re my pretty bot’.”

Knock Out froze as his spark jumped to his throat. He hadn’t heard Breakdown’s voice since the cycle he was deactivated. He had recordings of it, on old video feeds they’d taken of each other a millennia ago, but he had never gone back to view them since Breakdown’s death. He did a fine job of crying his optics out without such visual and audio prompts, and he didn’t feel like he really needed to enhance that ongoing, miserable experience for himself. But now Knock Out was trying to place when and where Soundwave had ever been present when Breakdown called him by that term of endearment, which they had always been very private about. Then again, Soundwave wouldn’t have needed to be in their physical presence to have heard it on the Nemesis.

With a faint smile, Knock Out quickly flicked his red gaze away. He could have been angry at the violation of privacy, but he had never assumed he had any, not with Soundwave, so he was far from offended. “Megatron’s greatest spy. I always figured you overheard much more than you should have.”

“’Knock Out, Starscream’s looking for you. Where’d ya go?’” Breakdown’s voice asked. Then, “Did you see the way I hammered Bulkhead’s faceplates in? That piece of slag didn’t stand a _chance!’” _Soundwave continued to pet Knock Out’s hand with tiny little strokes of his fingers, and then suddenly began to play back what was seemingly every recording of Breakdown’s voice he had ever made: Random clips of Breakdown laughing when Megatron wasn’t around; Breakdown yelling in rage while fighting the Autobots; Breakdown whispering sweet nothings that Knock Out had thought only his audials had heard when spoken in the middle of what they assumed was _quiet_ interfacing. There were recordings of full conversations where Knock Out did not always know who Breakdown had been speaking to, and recordings of him quietly singing words from his favorite Earth songs. And then there were recordings of Breakdown that Knock Out wished he didn’t have to hear again, clips of him when he was at his worst, in the throes of paranoia and most certainly off his meds, when he swore the entire universe was out to get him, or, a more likely scenario, that the Decepticon crew wanted him dead: “’Starscream was too nice to me today, I think he’s plotting something’”. ”’Did you see the pattern those Energon cubes fell into when Megatron kicked the crate over? That means something, I’m _sure_ of it. But _what?’_”

There were clips of him in a panic when he found out that the real reason Knock Out hadn’t been the one to save him from M.E.C.H. was because Megatron had beaten him unconscious for trying to leave, “’Oh Primus, this is all my fault! I’m _so sorry,_ Knocks! I’ll make it right, I’ll fix it!’” and then him trying to save face with Megatron after the Autobots helped him escape. Knock Out knew their Lord had never fully restored his faith in Breakdown’s fighting abilities once M.E.C.H. had captured him: “’Allow me to redeem myself, Master. What I have lost is a constant reminder that I must never fail you again’.” And then a recording of that final cycle, that final conversation that would be Breakdown and Knock Out’s last: “’But, Dreadwing needs backup. I can’t let him go after Airachnid by himself, you know that… It’ll be fine. You _know_ it will. I’ll come back, and to celebrate the glitch’s death, we can open that bottle of high-grade we’ve been hiding from Megs since our last stop on Phobos, okay?...You’re my everything, Knocks.’”

The entire playback took over an hour. Knock Out sat in silence, his optics wide as dozens of memories he’d been trying to suppress resurfaced to be processed all over again. He smiled to many of them, but frowned and glared at some as well, and he could not keep the emotions he was feeling out of his EM field. How or why Soundwave was willing to tolerate them, especially in such close proximity, Knock Out was not sure. For one nano-klick at the end, he wondered if Soundwave had played all the recordings to be cruel, to somehow punish Knock Out for putting him into the position of having no visor and no Laserbeak, and for “betraying” the Decepticon cause. But once Knock Out realized this was actually a gift, Soundwave’s way of thanking him for his help, he could no longer keep the tears of optic wash from running down his faceplates.

“Thank you, Soundwave. Do you think you can play them all again, just one more time?”

Knock Out came back online with a start, his engines revving as he quickly sat up. For a moment he forgot where he was as he blinked at the M.A.R.B. he was sitting on, and felt the weight of the lead-lined tarp that had been draped over his frame falling off of him as he moved. His gaze quickly shifted around the room, scanning the walls and empty Energon crates as his internal readouts finally told him that it was early morning.

With his wits and most recent memories finally gathered about him, Knock Out quickly stood up from the M.A.R.B. and searched for Soundwave in a state close to panic. If the mech had somehow found a way out of the room, he was certain the Autobots would blame _him _for it, and Primus knows what the consequences would be. Luckily, Knock Out did not have to go far before he located Soundwave. He was standing in one corner of the room, his gaze turned upwards and casting a purple glow on the ceiling. When Knock Out walked up to him, he was surprised to find a smile on the mech’s faceplates. Blinking to that, Knock Out followed Soundwave’s gaze with his own, adding a reddish hue to the glow of their optics on the metal ceiling and the grated air vent located there.

“What is it, Soundwave?” Knock Out asked as he narrowed his optics, but his scans came back with nothing. “What do you see?”

Suddenly the grate covering the vent overhead burst open. Knock Out had no time to react as the shadowy form with glowing red optics leaped from the air duct and landed right on top of him. He yelled as the added weight threw him off balance, his hands tearing at the black and grey frame that had attached itself to him with its claws as the two wrestled with each other before Knock Out finally tripped over his own peds and fell flat onto his back. The buffer of his shoulder-mounted tires that usually soften his fall was long gone, since the cycle that Ratchet had removed the one that hadn’t been blown off by Wheeljack’s RPG.

Knock Out was not sure what he was fighting, he’d purposefully kept his optics shut when he realized the beast had claws, but he managed to wrap his hands around its throat and prevent it from biting his faceplates off, even as it had him pinned to the floor with both its paws on his shoulders. It was not until the bot quit gnashing its fangs and digging its sharp nails into the bare protoflesh of Knock Out’s left shoulder that he dared to open his optics in a guarded squint to look at his attacker, its tail whipping back and forth behind it like a cryosnake. Soundwave, in the background, merely stared down at the entire scene without a care in the world.

_“Ravage!?”_

“Hello, _traitor!”_


	6. The Return of Old Friends

Smokescreen sat slumped in his chair, eyeing the stacks of data pads scattered over the surface of his desk. He still wasn’t used to having his own office, even though it had been several stellarcycles now that the Elite Guard had set him up with one. “Every Captain needs an office, Sir,” they had told him when he tried to explain that it wasn’t necessary. Smokescreen hadn’t understood why they told him it was, until the datawork started stacking up.

When he was promoted, he had assumed that meant he would be running more important missions and leading his own platoon, but instead they’d stuck him behind a desk and put him in charge of the Unit’s administrative tasks. Now his cycles were filled with reviewing spreadsheets of financial records and supply logs, and adding his official signature wherever it was needed. It was dull, mind-numbing work. He felt like he was being punished, for what, it was not clear, though he had his suspicions. Many times, he had gone to his superiors and asked to be reassigned for what he believed to be valid reasons: He was one of the fastest bots in the Unit; he had the highest qualifying score at the weapons range; he frequently outpaced and outmaneuvered everyone during training exercises. But always they refused his requests. They told him he _was_ one of the best, but that the best bots should be saved for the best missions, and that he should just be patient. Smokescreen didn’t believe that for a nano-klick. He knew the _real_ reason they were keeping him out of sight. Apparently having a Decepticon for a Sire meant he was a liability, and it was best to keep liabilities behind closed doors.

As the steallrcycles wore on, Smokescreen had lost touch with most of the old members of Team Prime. Wheeljack, Bulkhead, and Ultra Magnus remained in what was now referred to as “New Iacon” to rebuild the city, which Smokescreen rarely frequented now, since he’d been assigned to the Elite Guard Unit operating out of Protihex nearly three-hundred miles away. He had heard Bumblebee returned to Cybertron with a newly-fitted T-cog some six stellarcycles ago to join up with Rodimus Prime on a peacekeeping mission near Ky-Alexia. Smokescreen had refrained from sending the bot any sort of external message, figuring that Bumblebee would message him himself, once he had time to do so.

Ratchet had taken over command of the Earth base, a move Smokescreen never thought he’d live to see, but the old mech seemed oddly happy there, despite all his griping about the planet and the humans for so many megacycles before the war ended. First Aid and some of the Vehicons had remained as well and were, as far as Smokescreen knew, still mining Energon and sending shipments over to Cybertron via the Spacebridge. Smokescreen had not gone back to Earth since the cycle he found out Knock Out had put himself into stasis.

And somewhere, through all of that, he had lost track of Arcee. They’d stayed in touch in the beginning, even when she’d refused to answer all his questions about her past dealings with Knock Out, and regardless of how angry that had made him. Smokescreen knew she’d remained in New Iacon for several stellarcycles to help with the rebuilding efforts, but once Smokescreen had left the city, he saw less and less of her. Soon her visits to Protihex were less frequent, and more and more time passed between external messages and comm calls. Smokescreen had tried to keep tabs on her, but the few times he had spoken with her, she was constantly in a new location: The remnants of Crystal City, Stanix, Praxus, Uraya. She was always on the move, and she never said why; Smokescreen didn’t ask.

Of all the post-war outcomes he had imagined, Smokescreen had never thought this would be his reality, yet here he was, miserable, alone, and working a desk job. Would they have stuck him in such a position if he was carrying the Matrix? he wondered more than once. Probably not, yet he found that he could not truly believe that him having the Matrix now would have been worth Optimus Prime’s death _then_. No, he still did not regret turning it down, but he did daydream, _a lot,_ about what his life might have been like if he _had _taken the Matrix, and if he _hadn’t _come clean about Knock Out being his Sire at the trial before the Council.

“Sir,” the voice of a fellow Elite Guard member startled Smokescreen from one such daydream that afternoon, the mech knocking on his office door before opening it wide enough to stick his head in and eye Smokescreen through his yellow optics. “There’s an old Guard member here that’s asking to see you. Says she knew you before the war?” he said, his look a clear indication that he doubted that very much.

_“’She’?”_ Smokescreen blinked up from his data pad, frowning as he wracked his databanks for fems he knew before the war began; there were not many. “Send her in,” he slowly stood from his desk, suddenly wary when he’d run through all of his memories and come to the conclusion that all the mecha he’d known back then were likely dead. He was just about to prime one of his servo-cannons when the mecha that appeared in the doorway made his jaw drop. “Holy slag, _Strongarm!?”_

“Smokescreen!” Strongarm was across the room and squeezing Smokescreen in a hug in a matter of nano-klicks. She had always been physically stronger than Smokescreen, and the megacycles had not changed that as she now practically crushed him in her servos that fit her designation. “Oh, my Primus, I can’t believe you’re _alive!”_ she held him back to get a good look at him, though her blue optics suddenly widened at the rank painted on his chest plates. “You’re a _Captain!? _Sir!” she shoved Smokescreen away from her as she snapped into a salute. “It’s an honor to be in your presence again, _Sir!”_

Still reeling from the shock of his old friend standing in his office, Smokescreen barely felt her shove, even though it sent him thudding against the back wall. The impact did bring his senses back online however, and he couldn’t help but laugh at Strongarm’s sudden change in demeanor. “Oh, please, are you kidding me with that?_” _he stepped up to her and pulled her saluting hand back down to her side. “You have my permission to speak freely, even though you know I don’t need to give_ you_ permission for anything,” he said, knowing that Strongarm would stick to the rank and rules until he officially said she didn’t have to. Suddenly he felt like a complete idiot, as he took a step back to stare at her, because he could not stop smiling. Just when he thought he was alone in the world, Strongarm showed up. It was almost too good to be true._ “_I can’t believe it’s really you! Primus, I thought you were deactivated!”

“I thought _you _were deactivated!” Strongarm practically shouted once Smokescreen released her from protocol. “What in the Pit happened!?”

Smokescreen recalled the memory of the last time he had seen Strongarm. She was the first friend Smokescreen had made after Alpha Trion had found him in the desolate streets of Iacon and taken him in at the very beginning of the war. The two of them had grown up together, and quickly come to the realization that they were from the same, final pulse of sparks from the Well. Just like Smokescreen, Alpha Trion had stumbled across Sparkling Strongarm and taken her in, and those two commonalities had only solidified their friendship. At Alpha Trion’s suggestion, they had both tried out for the Elite Guard when they came of age, and had both passed the training program with spectacular results. Neither bot was surprised when Alpha Trion requested that both of them be assigned to guard the Hall of Records after they had completed their training, and it was there that the two had last encountered each other, four million megacycles ago. That was the memory that Smokescreen was recalling now.

“Do you remember that final night at the Hall of Records, when the Decepticons attacked?” Smokescreen asked. “Alpha Trion...I think he did something to my brain node. He put me into stasis and shot me off in a pod into space,” Smokescreen shook his head then, for it still embarrassed him to admit it. “I woke up on a Decepticon prison transport ship four million megacycles later. I escaped and made my way to Earth, but I missed the _entire war.”_

“I think he did the same thing to _me!”_ Strongarm was quick to reply as she placed a hand to her chest plates, the look of confusion Smokescreen was giving her forcing her to shake her helm as well. “No, _seriously!_ I remember the attack going down! I was guarding the South Wing inside the Hall. I heard the ‘Cons coming and they were just about to break down the door when—”

“You blacked out?” Smokescreen finished the sentence for her.

_“Yes!”_ Strongarm said with a nod. “But I didn’t get shot off into space like you did. I never even made it off Cybertron,” she lamented, and her disappointment was obvious as it pulsed from her signature. “Some of the Excavators in New Iacon only just dug my stasis pod out of what’s left of the Hall of Records a decacycle ago. I missed the entire war, too. _You_ didn’t though!” She quickly pointed a black finger at Smokescreen. “While I was getting over my stasis sickness, they let me watch the news and access the Historical Archives so that I could catch up on everything. Smokescreen, you’re a _hero!_ The Historians are already writing about you!”

“Are they?” Smokescreen blinked to that, for no one had told him.

_“Yes!_ Don’t you know? Don’t you keep track of what they’re saying about you?”

“No, I try to ignore it, actually,” Smokescreen blinked down to his peds then.

“You always were too modest,” Strongarm shook her helm again as she watched him. “Primus, it’s really good to see you. I was worried for a nano-klick that I wouldn’t know _anyone_ anymore, but here you are!”

“Yeah…Yeah, here I am!” Smokescreen’s smile began to falter as he felt his spark slowly sinking into the depths of his tank. “So…you watched and read _everything_ about me that’s in the Historical Archives? _All_ of it?”

Strongarm was still far too elated to have found Smokescreen alive and well to realize the sudden shift in his mood. “Oh, well…no,” she said as she thought for a moment, “only up to the final battle at the Well of AllSparks. Why?” she smiled again, assuming that Smokescreen was hiding something amazing from her that she must not have seen or read yet. “Did I miss the part where they made you a Prime afterwards, or something? What do you think your designation would be as a Prime, anyway? Smokemus Prime? Screenium Prime? Gosh, that’s a hard one,” she tapped a finger on her chin for a moment before grinning and flexing her right servo. “_Mine_ would be easy: _Servo_ Prime, for the ‘arm’ in ‘Strongarm’, right?” she glanced from her arm to Smokescreen, finally catching on to the change in his EM field. Instantly worried that she had somehow overstepped her bounds, she raised a brow. “What’s wrong? Slag, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, _Sir! _Here I am going on like we used to and everything is so different now! I’m sorry!”

With a vented sigh, Smokescreen quickly raised both hands to her again. “No, no it’s not that. I mean, _yes,_ everything is different now, but…,” he paused, unable to finish his sentence. _She must not know,_ he thought, _there’s no way she’d be standing here if she knew the whole truth. _A surge of sadness suddenly washed over him at the realization that the friend he had just regained was about to be lost to him all over again, because he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from her, not Strongarm. And he knew that if he stayed quiet about it, it would only create a bigger rift between them when she eventually found out through some other source.

“Hey, are you okay?” Strongarm stepped close again, clearly concerned as the disappointment in Smokescreen’s signature practically smothered her. “What is it?”

Smokescreen rubbed a hand over his forehelm before he slumped back into the chair behind his desk. He did not have the courage to make eye-contact with her as he gestured to the chair across from him and vented a sigh. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll tell you everything you missed.”

Knock Out released his grip around Ravage’s throat, choosing instead to hold up his hands in defense rather than risk getting his optics slashed out by a pair of metal claws. He didn’t want to fight, but Ravage clearly had other plans as he remained standing on Knock Out’s chestplates, his red optics narrowed into tiny slits as he growled and bared his fangs.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you _right now,_ traitor?” Ravage hissed.

“I’m _not_ a traitor! Listen! Just _listen_ to me!” Knock Out pleaded. “I’m trying to _help_ Soundwave! Can’t you see he’s injured!? We just have to fix his visor, and then—”

_“‘We?’”_ Ravage blinked to that, then glared all the more. “Is it ‘_we’_ already with you? As in, you and the Autobots, working together, ‘_we’?_ I caught the broadcast of your trial last megacycle,” the tip of Ravage’s tail danced back and forth in a clear show that his anger was rising. “You denounced the Decepticons. You said we were ‘the wrong side to choose’. That makes you a _Goddamn traitor.”_

“Megatron _gave up!” _Knock Out yelled._ “He _denounced his own oppressive actions as a Decepticon and he _gave up! He_ ended the war! _Tell_ him!” looking past Ravage, Knock Out gestured to Soundwave with a hand while the slender mech still silently watched the pair on the floor below him. “I know you were in the Shadowzone, but _surely_ you saw and heard what Megatron said that cycle, so _tell_ him!”

Soundwave shifted his gaze to the side, the empty Energon crate beside him reflecting the purple glow of his optics in the dimly-lit room. The speakers embedded in the lower, remaining half of his helmet crackled with static for several nano-klicks, as though he was having trouble isolating the sounds on the recording he was trying to play. Finally, after some fine-tuning, Megatron’s voice could be heard as he gave his final order to his troops. “’…Because I now know the true meaning of oppression, and have thus lost my taste for inflicting it…The Decepticons are no more. That is final.’”

Ravage was so stunned by the words that he sat down on his haunches and just stared in disbelief for a moment, his ears swiveled back in alarm as he tried to process what he’d just heard. “He really said that?” he asked Soundwave, though it was Knock Out who answered.

_“Yes. _And then he took off, and no one has heard from him or Starscream since. It’s been more than a megacycle now,” Knock Out shook his head, annoyed that the catbot was using him as a seat, but he wasn’t about to mention it. “It’s over.”

Blinking down to his paws, Ravage remained silent for a moment before he looked up again and turned to look at the wall, as though he could see through it. “All those badgeless bots outside…_None_ of them are Decepticons.”

“Neutrals,” Knock Out confirmed. “They all came back. They and the Autobots run Cybertron now.”

“I haven’t seen _any_ other Decepticons,” said Ravage as he glanced between Knock Out and Soundwave. “Not in my space travels, not on the ground here. Where_ is_ everybody? Where did everyone _go?”_

“They’re _gone,”_ Knock Out said after a few silent moments where he assumed Soundwave would have said something as well, if he could.

“What about Shockwave?” Ravage glanced back down to Knock Out.

“Missing in action.”

“Skyquake and Dreadwing?”

“Both deactivated,” Knock Out said, now sensing the rising nervousness in Ravage’s EM field as the truth of the matter finally seemed to be hitting home.

“And Breakdown…” Ravage said, then shook his head, not needed to finish the sentence, for he had seen Knock Out’s trial and heard how the bot’s better half had been killed. Ravage squinted his optics at the sudden sadness seeping from Knock Out’s signature. He quickly stepped off of him and back onto the floor, his tail once again flicking in agitation as he turned his gaze to Soundwave. “Where’s Laserbeak?”

“She’s in stasis,” Knock Out sat up the instant Ravage was clear of him, though he kept his optics trained on his feline form, always alert for another attack. “The Autobots have her. They’re trying to revive her.”

“Good,” Ravage said, not bothering to look back at Knock Out as he casually brushed against Soundwave’s legs with his shoulder while walking past him in a silent “farewell”. He stepped back towards the stack of Energon crates below the open vent in the ceiling. “I’ll be back later.”

“Ravage, you need to _surrender._ You _all_ need to surrender!” Knock Out said as he scrambled back up to his peds, looking between both Ravage and Soundwave now. “You’re only making it worse for yourselves if you don’t!”

“Oh, like _you_ did, you mean?” Ravage quickly spun back around and stalked towards Knock Out again, his shoulders high and his head low, like he was looking to pounce. “Because things are so much _better _for you now? Mech, there is no way_ I’m_ publicly humiliating myself in front of the entire cosmos by bowing down to the Autobots and then getting put away for vorns as thanks. You’re a fragging _idiot!” _he hissed. “You walked _right_ into their trap by taking that plea deal, and now look at you. They’ve got you locked down for the rest of your life, and you know it,” he slowly inched after Knock Out, who had already backed himself against the far wall. When Ravage was mere meters away, he stopped, his crouch still low, and he unconsciously wiggled his back end as he took aim. “I oughta do you a favor and put you out of the misery I can _smell _wafting off of you. Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick, but you bet your aft it’s gonna hurt.”

“Ravage, return,” Soundwave’s monotone voice cut through the intensity of the moment, startling Ravage and Knock Out and causing them both to blink over to him.

_“What?”_ Ravage gaped at Soundwave, both at the fact he was choosing to use his own voice _and _at the order being given. “But, I—”

“Ravage, return,” Soundwave repeated, this time pressing a slim finger against the side of his chest to activate the docking mechanisms on his plating, which spread open with a quiet hiss of hydraulics.

“This isn’t over,” Ravage gave a final snarl to Knock Out, then turned and took just two short steps before he leaped at Soundwave, his sleek frame transforming mid-jump into an angular configuration of shapes that locked onto Soundwave’s chest. His head, tail, and four paws were completely hidden among the creases and seams of metal plating.

Knock Out could not help but vent a sigh of relief knowing that the battle with Ravage was, for now, stalled thanks to Soundwave, but as he pushed himself away from the wall, he was already worried about what needed to happen next. “I have to tell the Autobots Ravage is here, Soundwave. You know that, don’t you?” he asked, slumping his shoulders a bit when Soundwave merely turned and walked away from him, back towards the M.A.R.B. “They’re not going to like it. They might try to take him from you if you can’t control him, so just…_try_ not to let him get too out of hand, okay? Can you do that?” he followed Soundwave to the M.A.R.B., trying to get some sort of confirmation that the mech understood the gravity of the situation, but Soundwave simply sat down on the slab, grabbed the lead-lined tarp, flung it over himself and went still. _Right back to being a Sparkling_, Knock Out thought.

With another vented sigh, Knock Out made his way to the exit as he brought up his HUD and initiated an inner-comm to Ratchet so that he could return to the Medbay to complete his work on the visor.

It took several klicks before the old Medic unlocked the door to the storage room, allowing Knock Out to step into the hallway. Ratchet blinked to the thin lines of Energon seeping from the scratches on Knock Out’s left shoulder and quickly raised his chevron brows. “Primus, what _happened?_ Did Soundwave do that?”

“No,” Knock Out shook his head, then thought better of saying anything out loud as he let the door close behind him. They walked past the two mechs guarding the storage room to make their way to the Medbay. With a wary glance, he commed Ratchet again. “{Ravage is in there.}”

“{_Ravage!?}” _Ratchet practically fell over at the information he was receiving in his inner-audial, though he quickly recovered. “{How in the Pit did he get in!?}”

“{Through the ventilation system}” Knock Out replied, keeping his optics down as they passed an Autobot he didn’t know. {“It’s alright. Soundwave made him dock onto his frame. As long as Soundwave is alert and responsive, he can control Ravage.}”

Ratchet rubbed a hand down his faceplates as he vented a sigh. “(This is a breach of security. I _have _to report it.}”

“{That’s fine, I understand,}” Knock Out tried to reassure him, {“but if you let him stay with Soundwave, there’s less of a chance that he’ll…cause problems.}”

{“Which _I_ understand, but it’s convincing the Chief of Security I’m worried about,”} Ratchet commed, and when Knock Out gave him a questioning look, he gave him a knowing glance. _{“Prowl.”}_

“Oh,” Knock Out said aloud, and he could not help the wince that escaped him at the bot’s designation. He had been silently hoping Prowl _wasn’t _on the ship.

As they came to the Medbay, Ratchet paused by the door, assessing the minor scratches on Knock Out’s shoulder before he removed a swab from one of his chest compartments and used it to dab the small streaks of Energon from Knock Out’s protoflesh. The action made Knock Out go instantly still, and he eyed Ratchet’s hand warily, even though he knew the mech was acting out of kindness, or rather, because his programming was probably all but forcing him to assist an injured bot, no matter how insignificant the wound.

“First Aid and Fixit were able to find the epoxy you requested when they went into town,” Ratchet said as he gave Knock Out’s shoulder a final swipe. “First Aid is in the Medbay now and Fixit is making his rounds. Keep working on the visor, and I’ll go take care of this…situation,” his last was a grumble before he turned to go, though not before he escorted Knock Out into the Medbay and pinged First Aid that Knock Out was now under his watch.

First Aid was his usual chipper self, giving a nod to Knock Out as he looked up from the data pad he held. “Good morning! Did you rest well?”

Crossing the room to his work station, Knock Out eyed the still-slumbering Laserbeak as he passed by her berth. He did not reply to First Aid until he was certain the mecha was still in stasis, which he noted by stealing a glance at the vitals monitor by her side. “Ravage broke into the storage room this morning,” he muttered before taking his seat.

“Oh Primus!” First Aid nearly dropped the data pad, and Knock Out swore he saw the bot’s emergency lights flash on and off even though, when First Aid was not in vehicle mode, the lights were hidden under his armor plating. “We have to—”

“I already let Ratchet know,” Knock Out quickly held up a hand. “He’s going to tell Prowl right now.”

“Alright,” First Aid instantly calmed to that, though he gave a worried glance to the Medbay door. “Wow. I thought they had this place on lock-down. I guess not. That’s a little concerning.”

Knock Out glanced over the layers that would make up Soundwave’s visor, all laid out before him on the counter, and tried to remember where’d left off last night. “Ravage can find his way into any structure, there’s not much the Autobots could have done to keep him away, especially not from his former home,” he said, then picked up the large jar of epoxy that had been left there for him. “Thanks for getting this.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” First Aid said of Ravage’s infiltration abilities, then smiled to Knock Out’s gratitude. “No problem, I’m glad we were able to find some.”

“You found it…in town?” Knock Out was not sure what Cybertronians were calling Iacon now, or if the word “town” even accurately described the mess of short, metal buildings and ramshackle dwellings he’d seen from the window yesterday.

First Aid gave a nod as he set his data pad aside and moved to the medslab where Laserbeak lay to pick up another data pad at the foot of the berth. “Yep. A bot has an actual store set up now. I think he’s still mostly trading goods, but he accepted our credits for the epoxy.”

Knock Out set the jar aside and pulled the first layer of the visor toward him in order to start preparing the edges for the adhesive. He didn’t want to sound like he gave a damn about what was going on outside of the ship, but he found that he was too curious not to ask. “...What else is out there?”

“Uhh, let’s see,” First Aid scanned the data pad and flicked through a few screens before placing it back in its holster on the frame of the medslab. “A few trading stalls, some ship repair shops, a wax n’ shine. Oh! Some mech has a tiny little shack that says ‘Quik-E-Mart’ above the entrance. I thought that was really clever. Remember those?”

“Yes, I remember,” Knock Out rolled his optics, recalling the chain of convenience stores that were once prevalent on Cybertron before the war. The “E”, of course, stood for “Energon”, a name that fit the stores perfectly, as they were known for their wide selection of Energon goodies and drinks.

“There’s even a temple of Primus, with services and everything,” First Aid continued. He eyed Knock Out then, trying to judge what Knock Out’s response to his next question might be. He had never given much thought to whether Knock Out was a religious bot; most Medics weren’t (just look at Ratchet, for instance). And who knows if Megatron even allowed his troops to pursue _any_ form of religious practice. Either way, he thought he would offer Knock Out a chance to get off the ship. “There’s a service at the temple tomorrow, actually. Wanna go with me? I bet Ratchet would let you.”

“Psh, sure, in _stasis cuffs._ No thanks.”

First Aid had not considered that, then felt a bit bad about it. “Well, I could ask the vicar to come here, if you want to talk with him? I’m sure he would; he seemed really nice.”

“No.”

With a small feeling of disappointment, First Aid gave a nod, and was just about to change the subject when the sounds of a transformation sequence immediately stole his attention, and he practically jumped out his armor plating as he watched Laserbeak’s form suddenly begin to move. Her armor plates crisscrossed and her gears shifted until her form looked not like some stiff, metal ornament, but an actual, mechanical bird, with a long neck and a head and a beak and two wide wings that were now flapping wildly in an attempt to break free from the restraints that held them in place.

“Whoa!” First Aid clutched his hands to his chest plates before he finally came to his senses as he gaped to Knock Out. “That was her alt-mode this _whole time!?”_

“Yes, that was her alt-mode, this whole time,” Laserbeak’s brutish but feminine voice was full of static as she used it for the first time in centuries, but she was still able to get her point across as she hissed to the little Medic in front of her. “Take me to Soundwave before I _rip your optics out!_”

Knock Out quickly moved from his seat and rushed over to the medslab, grabbing Laserbeak from behind with both hands, right where he knew her sharp beak would be unable to reach him, which he’d had to learn the hard way, so he wanted to spare First Aid the same fate. “If you’re nice, Laserbeak, the Autobots might let you live,” he warned while he managed to grasp her at the back of her neck and pin her helm to the medslab while First Aid struggled to hold Laserbeak’s wings down and reconfigure the restraint system around her newly-transformed frame.

“Of _course_ we’ll let you live, but you need _stop moving!_ You’re not ready to fly, you’ll only hurt yourself!” First Aid yelled.

“Typical Autobot lies,” Laserbeak continued to crane her neck back and forth, though the thrashing of her wings was subdued when First Aid was finally able to bind them down to her sides. “You’d like nothing more than to keep me chained to this medslab, wouldn’t you? Enough of this!” she readied her lasers, the charge of electromagnetic radiation causing her rectangular optics to flare brightly, only the second phase of her weapons never fully engaged. She felt the triggering mechanisms stall out after only a few nano-klicks. _“What!?”_ she tried again, focusing her gaze on the restraints that First Aid had wrapped around her wings, but she found she could not even stimulate the emission necessary to activate the laser beams. With a feral hiss, she tried to turn her head to face First Aid as she spoke. “What in the Pit did you _do_ to me!?”

“I disabled your weaponry circuits,” First Aid said with a shrug as he simultaneously added another restraint strap to Laserbeak’s clawed peds.

Laserbeak was not quick enough to pull her peds free from the straps, and she began to panic once she realized she was stuck to the medslab against her will. Her encroaching fear was obvious in her voice as she quit struggling for a nano-klick. “Where’s Soundwave?”

“We have him in another location, and he’s okay,” First Aid, ever-aware of every bot’s EM field, whether he wanted to be or not, was quick to respond to Laserbeak as he felt her anxiety begin to rise. “Ravage is with him.”

“Ravage? He came back? And Buzzsaw?” she asked, and First Aid had to look to Knock Out at that, because he was not sure of the answer.

“She wasn’t with him when he dropped in,” Knock Out shrugged.

“A traitor _and_ a liar now, too?” Laserbeak’s armor plating struggled to shift as she tried to transform again in an effort to loosen the straps, but now even that seemed impossible, and it only fueled her anger even more. “I see you’re fitting in _quite well_ with the Autobots, Knock Out. No surprise there. Where’s Buzzaw? She’s nearby…I can _feel_ it. I need to see her. You _have_ to let me see her.”

Once Knock Out was certain First Aid had successfully tied Laserbeak down, he released his grip on her winged shoulders and neck and stepped away from the medslab, though his gaze drifted to First Aid as he sent the smaller bot an internal message. “{Laserbeak and Buzzsaw are twins. If Laserbeak says Buzzsaw is close, it’s probably true. You know how twins are.}”

“{I’ll comm the Security Team to keep a look out for her,}” First Aid sent back, giving a subtle nod as he took a step back from the slab as well. {“Maybe she’ll come quietly?}”

“{You’ve never met Buzzsaw, have you.}”

First Aid tried to offer a smile and signature filled with understanding as he glanced down to Laserbeak, though she was clearly having none of it. “I’ll see what I can do to locate her.”

“{As soon as Laserbeak finds Soundwave’s signal, they’ll be able to comm one another, and as soon as Buzzsaw gets close enough, she’ll be able to do the same,}” Knock Out cautioned as he sat back down at his work station and continued to prep the layers of glass for bonding.

“{Hopefully the Security Team locates her before that. Do you think they’re planning something?}”

“{I don’t know. Maybe not. Soundwave didn’t allow Ravage to kill me, so whatever _their _intent is, Soundwave doesn’t seem to agree with it.}”

Although her head was now firmly strapped to the medslab, Laserbeak was still able to shift her optics from one mech to the next, and they narrowed to Knock Out and his sudden silence. “You’re awfully quiet. Are you_ comming_ with this dipstick?”

“He’s not a dipstick,” Knock Out immediately scowled over to her.

“You’re sharing _wavelengths _with these fools? Unbelievable,” Laserbeak replied a she rolled her optics, then she suddenly stared at First Aid. “Wait a klick…_I_ know you. First Aid. You’re the one strut-licker over there,” she gave a small side-nod to Knock Out, “‘traded’ to the Autobots for the Phase Shifter. I remember that mission,” she hissed, then looked back to Knock Out once more. “So, this was your plan all along, huh? You and First Aid getting all buddy-buddy, then you prevent Starscream from retaking the ship, and when the war ends, you get to switch sides, just like that.”

“I’m their _prisoner,_ just like _you_ are!” Knock yelled.

“Oh?” Laserbeak feigned surprised, “I don’t see _you_ in chains!”

“My hands are free so I can fix Soundwave’s visor, or would you rather I don’t? Then you and Ravage can deal with him,” Knock Out narrowed his optics toward the ungrateful birdbot, knowing it was just as much a struggle for her and the other Casettecons to reign Soundwave in when he was without his visor. “_Good luck.”_

“Frag you!”

“Stop! Please, both of you, just _stop_.” First Aid finally intervened when he realized, with disappointment, that Knock Out wasn’t going to take the high road here and disregard Laserbeak’s obvious attempts to rattle him. He watched as Knock Out turned his glare onto him, but that was what he wanted, as he gave him a direct order. _“Ignore_ her.”

The sudden sternness in First Aid’s voice produced a throaty cackle from Laserbeak’s vocalizer, her small frame shaking with laughter even as it was tied down. “Wow, _and_ you let him order you around like that? Pathetic.” 

“You don’t have to be so rude,” First Aid stated calmly as he stepped up to the medslab again, now that he was safe from Laserbeak’s weapons and talons. Very slowly, he began to reach out with his EM field with a soothing signature he was certain Laserbeak would hate, but he had good reason, as he casually eyed her vitals monitor. “We’re all only trying to help you and Soundwave.”

Laserbeak hissed in warning, though that was all she could do to try and keep First Aid at bay. “You’re Medics, it’s your _job_ to help us, regardless of faction, and I _don’t_ have to be nice to you for it. Get your signature off of me, little mech,” she hissed again, then went suddenly still. “…What in the Pit did you just do to me?” she blinked up to First Aid once, then the light behind her red optics slowly began to dim. She quit struggling against the restraints, and her fettered wings finally relaxed at her sides. “…That’s not fair,” she mumbled as her optical shutters slowly closed, “how are you…?” she was unable to complete her sentence as she fell into sleeper mode, clearly against her will.

Knock Out, who had been in a seething rage only moments ago, now stared with wide optics between First Aid and the unconscious Laserbeak, wondering what mystical power he had just witnessed First Aid perform on the unsuspecting bird. “Did you just put her out with your EM field!?”

“No,” First Aid chuckled, and it was the first time Knock Out saw the mech look momentarily smug. “She’s not running on a full charge yet. I knew she only had about five klicks of power before she’d deplete her batteries and her frame would force her to shut down again,” he pointed to her vitals monitor. “I’ll let her keep thinking I _can_ do that, though. I hate to lie to her, but it might make her more manageable later on.”

“Very tricky,” Knock Out gave a tiny smirk of his own, impressed with First Aid’s quick thinking.

Now that she was still, First Aid set about rechecking Laserbeak’s Energon lines to make sure none had come loose. He struggled to find a suitable way to ask Knock Out his next question. “…Is she always so…so…?

“…Glitchy?” Knock Out held no reservations in calling her what he felt was the obvious choice of an adjective to describe Laserbeak.

“Yeah,” First Aid looked upset with himself for even agreeing with the term.

Knock Out nodded to that with a roll of his optics as he finally got back to work. “Yes. At least, ever since Soundwave separated her from Buzzsaw and Ravage.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Do you remember the battle of Galactica Harbor?”

“Yes,” First Aid visibly winced at the memory as it was recalled from his databanks. “There were thousands of casualties, on both sides.”

“Exactly. Rumble and Frenzy didn’t survive. They all have that link, you know,” Knock Out tapped one of his pointy fingers against his helm, “Soundwave and his Minicons. I don’t really understand it, nor do I care to, but when those two deactivated,” he shook his head, “they _all_ lost something. I always figured they were all jointly Amica Endurae, or something like that. Whatever it is, the deaths of those two affected the others, deeply. Soundwave decided he couldn’t risk keeping them all in one place anymore, so he sent Buzzsaw and Ravage out to serve in another sector. That was…three or four-hundred vorns ago, I’d say. They didn’t want to go, but they always do whatever Soundwave says. He must have called them back, or they wouldn’t even be here,” he shrugged, then suddenly raised a brow to First Aid. “I should have warned you that Laserbeak was in her alt-mode, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

A little trickle of sadness drifted from First Aid’s signature at the thought of any bot losing their friends to the war, as they had all lost someone, if not dozens of friends along the way, but he quickly raised a hand to Knock Out at his last. He was pleased that Knock Out even thought to apologize, let alone actually_ say_ as much. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” and he would have said more, only he was forced to pause as raised hand to his helm as his CMO chimed in his inner-audial. “Go ahead, Ratchet…Okay…Okay, thanks for the update,” he dropped his hand to his side as he looked back to Knock Out. “They sent a team out to patrol the perimeter and airspace around the ship for Buzzsaw. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll surrender?” he said hopefully, only to be shot down by the look of doubt Knock Out was giving him in return.

“Good morning, First Aid,” Fixit said as he came walking down the ramp and into the Medbay, and he eyed Knock Out sitting off to the side for a moment before greeting him as well. “…Knock Out.”

Knock Out gave Fixit a quick glance and a small upnod before continuing his work without a word. His increasing jealousy of Fixit and the shiny, revamped Medbay with all its newly-acquired tools and equipment made it very hard for him to feel grateful for being acknowledged by the Medic at all.

“Good morning,” First Aid replied with a smile. “How were the rounds?”

“Not too bad,” Fixit shrugged as he moved to stand beside First Aid and show him the screen of the data pad he held in his hand. “Caps Lock is doing well, but the puncture wounds on his…” he paused then, giving a casual glance over his shoulder to Knock Out before he turned back to the data pad and went silent.

Knock Out was fully aware the two Medics were comming one another, just as Laserbeak had predicted of him and First Aid when they stopped speaking out loud. He rolled his optics, still sanding the edges of one of the visor plates as he glared at their backs until they parted, their conversation apparently over. “*Ahem* Are you having trouble with Caps Lock?” he asked. “Not that it’s any of my business, but without Shockwave in our midst, _I’m_ the leading expert on Vehicon anatomy, you know.”

“Because you _killed them_ for their parts,” Fixit replied as he raised a brow to Knock Out, wondering where the ex-‘Con thought this was going.

“Yes, I killed _a few of them_ for their parts,” Knock Out scowled, “under direct orders. The same way a Soldier is ordered to kill on the battlefield, under direct orders. _Anyway,_ being the leading expert on Vehicon anatomy, why don’t you let me take a look at Caps Lock’s latest injury report and I’ll see if there’s anything you missed.”

Fixit blinked to that. “Are you kidding me? You want me to violate doctor-patient confidentiality on top of the fact that _you aren’t a Medic_ _and,_ if I remember correctly, are _barred _from becoming one for the next two million megacycles? No way,” he shook his helm and turned to head to his station, but he paused to blink at Laserbeak’s transformed frame on the medslab, then to First Aid. “What the…When did she do _that?”_

“But you let me look at _Soundwave’s_ record!” Knock Out said, unwilling to accept Fixit’s dismissal of his offer so quickly.

First Aid and Fixit eyed one another before First Aid turned back to Knock Out with an apologetic look and tone. “We know, but that’s different.”

_“How?”_

“That was a potential life-or-death situation, for _all_ of us. This, thank Primus, is not,” Fixit said as he set his data pad aside. “And really, how do you think Caps Lock would feel if he found out I let _you,_ of all mechs, look at his injury report?” he shook his helm. “It’s too little too late, mech. We asked you for help with Soundwave, and you’re doing that by fixing the visor. We can handle the rest.”

Blinking to Fixit’s response, Knock Out felt the reasoning behind his justification to help the Vehicon instantly vanish. He had not for a nano-klick considered that Caps Lock wouldn’t want _him,_ the Vehicon expert (for reasons good or bad), to tend to his injuries. But the way Fixit put it suddenly made sense, as much as Knock Out did not want to admit it, and it pissed him off. He had not yet attempted to reconcile within his mind what he had done to the Vehicons, it was just one in a long line of issues he had been avoiding when he went into stasis. He gave no response back to Fixit, choosing to scowl at the visor pieces instead as he resumed his work.

For the next three hours, he sat and quietly sanded the edges of each visor plate, prepped the epoxy, tested the electrodes, and carefully painted the plasma cells with phosphor coating. All the while, he strained his audials to pick up any snippets of conversation that he could between Fixit and First Aid. In this manner, he learned that Pharma was still on Delphi _(thank Primus),_ that the Neutrals were proving to be a handful, and that Ironhide was trying to scrape together a new Civil Militia. There was no mention of Bumblebee, who Knock Out had not seen back on Earth, either, nor was there mention of any of the rest of the original Team Prime.

Knock Out was just turning the screw on the final C-clamp that now held the five layers of Soundwave’s visor together while the epoxy set when the Medbay door hissed open and Ratchet came down the ramp. In one hand, he carried by the handle a metal cage with pink glowbars, and inside the cage was a very angry bird.

“They _caught_ her!” First Aid exclaimed as Ratchet set the cage on a stool.

“She surrendered,” Ratchet grumbled. He narrowed his optics to Buzzsaw, who hissed and glared back, “on one condition—That we take her straight to Laserbeak. A promise which, _as you see,_ Buzzsaw, I’m making good on,” Ratchet missed the look of surprise between First Aid and Knock Out at the mention of surrender as he rolled the stool over to the medslab where Laserbeak still lay so that Buzzsaw could see her. He raised his brows with surprise of his own, though, when he saw Laserbeak’s frame. “Huh. I thought she gave that form up ages ago.”

“Primus, what’s wrong with her? Beaky?” Buzzsaw pressed her beak and helm up against the pink glowbars of her cage. Even though she was small, the worry for her twin that was emanating from her signature filled the room.

Ratchet turned his back to the cage as he stepped to one of the counters and opened a drawer there. “Her batteries can’t hold a charge for long, which makes her power down frequently. Her condition will improve with time, she’ll just be confined to a recharge slab for a while.”

“What did you _do_ to her?” Buzzsaw looked between the three Autobot Medics.

“_We_ did nothing,” Ratchet replied as he readied an I/D Chip, though Buzzsaw could not see it with his back turned to her. “Her aliments are a result of her being stranded in the Shadowzone for more than a megacycle. She’s lucky she had Soundwave to dock to, or she’d be dead.”

“Where _is_ Soundwave? I know he’s here. And Ravage. Where are they?” the same panicky EM field that Laserbeak had given off earlier now pulsed from Buzzsaw as well as she took in the Medbay that was no longer familiar to her, and clearly empty of Decepticons, save Laserbeak. “Take me to them.”

“The deal was you get to see Laserbeak, not them. We have them, and they’re safe and being looked after. That’s all you need to know,” said Ratchet, and he caught the attention of both First Aid and Fixit with an internal comm, each bot giving him a silent nod in recognition at the directions they were being given.

Buzzsaw peered through the bars to Laserbeak once more, then swiveled her head around as she began to size the place up for an escape route. That’s when her red optics landed on Knock Out, and she suddenly smiled (as much as her metal bird beak would allow), her optics narrowing as they focused in on him. “Knock Out. Are you a slave to the Autobots, now? Ravage and I saw your trial on CNN (Cybertronian News Network). How’s that five vorns behind bars working out for you? You know, I thought about trying to locate where they were housing you, so I could rip you apart and put you back together into something more pleasing to the optics, but then I thought to myself, ‘No. No, it would be _more fun_ to go after that pitiful Childe of yours instead’,” she cackled, her laugh identical to Laserbeak’s. It was well known that Buzzsaw had always considered herself an “artist”, a sculptor, actually, only her choice of material was not metal or stone but body parts that she would readily saw off of her victims. Transformers called Knock Out a butcher for scavenging parts to keep bots alive, but the living horrors that Buzzsaw made were created purely for her own sadistic pleasures and were absolute nightmare fuel to behold. She had tried many times to get Knock Out to assist her with her “projects”, but he had always declined, a fact that made him an instant enemy to her. Laserbeak might be glitchy, but Buzzsaw was a certified psycho. “What’s his designation, again?” she cooed to Knock Out, who was now looking at her with a sudden fear in his optics. “Smokescreen, right? Now, _there’s_ a frame I wouldn’t mind cutting into pieces and—"

“That’s enough talk,” Ratchet said as he reached into the cage the same nano-klick First Aid threw the top of it open. With one hand around her neck, and Fixit assisting him in pinning down the rest of her frame, Ratchet managed to inject the I/D Chip into the base of Buzzsaw’s skull before both mechs yanked their arms back out of the cage and First Aid slammed the top shut again. First Aid then grabbed the data pad he’d been keeping nearby and programmed the chip as fast as his Medic’s hands could type.

“What the frag was that!?” Buzzsaw swung her helm back and forth, craning her neck to try and see what the Autobots had done. “What did you just do?” She primed her saw for release, but the charge immediately failed.

“You’ve just been given an I/D Chip,” said Ratchet, smiling at the sound of her weapons failing to engage. He collected the insertion tool and tossed it into a bin for future sterilization. “It disables your weapons and transformation capabilities, and marks your GPS coordinates at all times. Oh, and it does _this _if you get unruly,” he paused as he brought up his servo-screen and tapped it with a finger. Buzzsaw instantly collapsed inside the cage, her optics still wide, but her body limp and lifeless, “which you _are._ I’m going to let you stay with Laserbeak, like you were promised, but I’d prefer you do it in silence, and without harassing the mech that’s doing Soundwave a great service by fixing his visor. I’ll leave you here for a while, and you can think about how you want to act in the near future when and _if_ I decide to release you from stasis-lock.”

Knock Out had watched everything go down in complete silence. He’d been too caught up and honestly confused by the surge of fear he suddenly felt when Buzzsaw threatened Smokescreen, but that was set aside when he watched the three Medics all moving in unison to install the I/D Chip. His panic returned however when he saw Ratchet step away from Buzzsaw’s cage, and he quickly called out to him on their shared wavelength, to warn him. “{She’ll inner-comm Soundwave and tell him what you did to her, he’s surely within range. He’ll be _livid.}”_

“{No, she won’t. The stasis-lock prevents inner-comming, at least, it does on _their_ chips.}” Ratchet replied, gesturing to both birds before he moved to where Knock Out sat, and looked over his work. “How’s everything going in here? How much longer?” he asked out loud.

Blinking at Ratchet’s response, Knock Out suddenly wondered if his own I/D Chip had the same settings and the Autobots were simply being nice by allowing him to have inner-comm capabilities with them, but he didn’t ask as he glanced to the visor’s screen, now held together with a series of clamps while the epoxy solidified. “…Six, maybe seven more hours of work.”

“Good. Keep at it, then,” said Ratchet as he set a hand on Knock Out’s shoulder before heading for the exit of the Medbay. He inner-commed Knock Out one more time as he made his way up the ramp. “{And ignore Buzzsaw’s comments about Smokescreen. He joined back up with the Elite Guard stellarcycles ago so, by default, he’s one of the best-guarded bots on the planet.}”

“I quit.”

Smokescreen stood before the desk of his superior Officer, his frame and doorwings ridged as he stood at attention. His superior Officer, a battle-hardened Colonel with shoulders as broad as Ironhide’s, was eyeing him from her seat as though he’d lost his mind.

“You _quit?”_

“I quit, _Ma’am. _Here’s my rank; here’s my sidearm. I’m quitting the Elite Guard._”_


	7. The Shifting Tides

Colonel Novara slowly crossed her servos over her chest as she watched Smokescreen remove the magnetic rank piece from his chest plates, along with the stripes from either side of his Autobrand, and set them on the desk in front of her, followed by his standard issue weapon. Her blue optics shifted over the items before she raised a brow back up to him. “What about your duty to the Guard, _Captain?”_

It had taken Smokescreen a lot of courage to come to the Colonel’s office that cycle. He was already nervous about quitting his post and the Elite Guard altogether, but at this point, he knew it had to be done. “I don’t have a duty to the Guard, Ma’am. I have a duty to Cybertron, to all of its citizens. And the work you have me doing here? It’s not fulfilling that duty,” he said, and he could not help but narrow his optics. Surely they had expected this from him, at some point? Maybe they had been trying to force him out all along? He was no longer certain of their motives, but in the end, he found that he also no longer cared. He did not mind giving Colonel Novara a little attitude as he turned in his rank and weapon, either. If she was going to give him slag about this, so be it; he’d already made up his mind.

Novara continued to stare. “Where will you go, Captain?” she asked, still using his rank, despite his relinquishment of it. “What will you do now?”

“Wherever and whatever Primus compels me to go and do,” Smokescreen said, then he gave his final salute and walked out of the office, out of the building, out of the Elite Guard complex, and out towards the road. Strongarm was waiting there for him, her optics wide when he actually showed up like they’d planned.

With a vented sigh, Novara waited until Smokescreen left the building before picking up her external comm line and keying in a number. She did not have to wait long for the call to be answered. “Yes, this is Colonel Novara…Yes, he quit, just as you predicted…I’m not sure where, but I’ll keep optics on him until someone from your department can take over…Of course. Have a pleasant evening, Sir.”

Outside, as Smokescreen came to stand beside Strongarm, he gave a final glance back to the Elite Guard compound. It was rather late now, and the floodlights that hung from each corner of the makeshift building glowed through the mist and fog that had blown in from the Sea of Rust some two miles away. Everything was still and silent; it was not the send-off Smokescreen had imagined.

When he’d sat Strongarm down the cycle prior and told her about everything she had missed, the trial, everything Smokescreen had admitted to the Council about Knock Out being his Sire, he had expected her to walk out on him. He had expected her to do what she’d always done ages ago whenever he suggested trying something that was too “outside the box” for her liking, or that just barely stayed within the lines of the law, which was to tell him how ridiculous he was, how he was just asking for trouble, and that she would hate to have to report him if he did in fact break the law. That wasn’t what she did this time, though, not even when he admitted to breaking into the Cybertronian Reproduction Database for his adoption records.

Strongarm had sat there and listened to Smokescreen vent about all the stressors that had accumulated for him over the past megacycle, barely speaking herself as she processed it all. And when he was finally done and over an hour had passed, instead of leaving his office and disowning him for his heritage and actions, she’d grabbed him by the servo, looked him in the optic and said out loud what he’d been internally thinking all along.

_“Leave._ If you don’t like it here, if you feel like they’re treating you badly, which they _clearly_ are, then leave. Look, _I’m_ not signing back up, not after everything you’ve told me. Leave, and I’ll come with you. You think I wanna stay in an organization that treats my friend like slag? _No way!_ It’s just like you said Arcee told you, we can be _anything_ we want now. I’ll come with you, Smokey. I don’t care that you gave up the Matrix. I don’t care that your Sire’s an ex-‘Con. Let’s get the frag out of here. We don’t owe the Guard _anything.”_

She was everything Smokescreen had been waiting for, a bot from his past that _understood_ him and where he came from, a friend, a confidant, someone who had missed the entire war just like he had, and who shared the guilt and shame of that with him, regardless of the fact that those feelings were unwarranted. And she didn’t give a_ damn_ where his CNA came from, because she saw beyond that, just like he did.

But now, as the two stood on the road, Strongarm could feel the apprehension in Smokescreen’s signature as she took note of the look he was giving the building. “Smokey, are you _sure_ this is what you want?” she asked.

Smokescreen turned back to her, her blue optics and biolights the only parts of her frame that were visible in the dark and misty air. “Yeah, I’m sure. Let’s get the frag out of here.”

In the hours that passed while the epoxy on the visor set, the Security Team onboard the Nemesis cordoned off all the air ducts that ran into the storage room that had been serving as Soundwave’s temporary holding cell. Knock Out and First Aid had sat in the room with Soundwave the entire time, watching him for any signs of retaliation. They did their best to distract him by Knock Out offering Energon, and First Aid working to finally replace Soundwave’s other fluids and repair what was left of Soundwave’s retractable metal tentacles, though the damage to the cables was severe. First Aid could do little more than sterilize, dock, and seal the ends. Neither he nor Knock Out mentioned to Soundwave that there were no plans to restore them to full working order. The cycles of Soundwave having access to the Spacebridge and the mainframe of the Nemesis were over.

There was only one instance where Soundwave shoved them both away to indicate he needed a break, but he still never gave any indication that he was aware of anything happening to the ventilation system. Knock Out found him to be oddly docile, and he wondered if the soothing signature First Aid had been flaring since the moment they stepped into the room had something to do with that.

It was very late in the evening when Knock Out added the finishing touches and ran the final circuitry tests on the new visor. In the interests of getting the helm piece back onto Soundwave as quick as possible, he did not waste time in asking the Autobots to try and find paint that matched Soundwave’s palette. Instead, he coated the bare metal surfaces with a rust-proof sealant; Soundwave never much cared about having matching armor, anyway.

When Knock Out and First Aid at last returned to the room to install the visor, they found Soundwave sitting on the M.A.R.B. to recharge, hunched over the box of bolts and pebbles and other little things. He used his long fingers to pick through the contents of each compartment, occasionally examining one of the pieces before setting it aside or moving it to a different section of the box. Upon closer inspection, Knock Out could not figure out what method Soundwave was using to sort the pieces; it was not shape or size or color. But for all Knock Out knew, each tiny thing might be emitting a frequency or smell or texture that his own processors could not comprehend. He never questioned Soundwave about his sorting process, he was just happy it kept him sane for more than twenty klicks.

“Soundwave, look, I fixed it. I have a new visor for you,” Knock Out said as he nodded to the armor piece in his hands. He was not expecting Soundwave to even acknowledge his presence, so he raised both brows in surprise when Soundwave froze mid-pick in the box, his optics slowly shifting to the side. Then he placed his hands to his chest, his fingers lightly tapping on the armor plating there that was in fact Ravage. For a moment, both Knock Out and First Aid cringed, expecting the angry beastbot to come roaring off of Soundwave to attack them both. But instead Soundwave calmly detached Ravage’s transformed frame from himself and offered him to First Aid.

His optics going wide, First Aid gave a look of panic to Knock Out, his soothing EM field vanishing in an instant at the thought of having to hold Ravage, even in his immobile altmode. But Knock Out’s insistent voice in his inner audials to accept Ravage and be thankful about it pushed First Aid to offer a weak smile as he carefully took the armor plating from Soundwave. “Thanks! Thank you! Uhh…” he swallowed hard as he looked down to the most dangerous Casettecon left alive, _in his hands,_ and then slowly backed toward the door. “…I’m gonna take him to the Medbay, okay, Soundwave? I’ll run a diagnostic on him, I’ll bet it’s been a while since he’s had a tune-up.” But Soundwave apparently heard none of that as he stepped down from the M.A.R.B. and tried to grab the visor from Knock Out’s grip.

“Alright! Alright!” Knock Out yelled as he grappled with Soundwave for a moment with one hand while trying to position the visor correctly with the other. “Don’t make me drop it! Here,” he finally managed to lift the piece up onto Soundwave’s helm, giving a fleeting thought to the fact that this was probably the last time he would ever see Soundwave’s actual faceplates. Soundwave frantically ran his fingers all along the edges of the visor and up under his chin over the seamlines. Knock Out did the same with his own hands, though with none of the agitated speed that Soundwave used. Their servos and fingers getting tangled up together annoyed Knock Out to no end. “Will you just let me check it!? I have to secure the clips! Hang on, for Primus’s sake! _There,”_ he said, once he’d forced Soundwave to bow his head so that he could ensure the helm was locked in properly.

Soundwave pushed and shoved for a few more nano-klicks before the visor’s screen finally came to life. A few horizontal lines of purple static rolled their way from the narrow chin up to the forehelm of the visor before Cybertronian script began to scroll from one side of the screen to the other so fast that Knock Out could not make out the symbols.

“Does it work?” Knock Out asked as he dropped his hands from the visor and took a step back. He gave a quick glance towards the door; First Aid had long-since left the room with Ravage.

Gripping his hands on either side of his head, Soundwave’s visor flashed through a dozen different color schemes as static and garbled sound bites hissed through his speakers. It took several klicks before his systems and the visor got into synch with one another, and then the recordings began. “’The Spacebridge!’” Starscream’s voice suddenly shouted. “’We’ve lost contact!’”

“I know,” Knock Out winced to that, now bracing himself for the possibility that Soundwave might become angry. “The Autobots aren’t going to let you have access to it anymore. That’s…that’s just the way it is now, Soundwave.”

A Vehicon’s voice piped up next. “’The navigation systems are down, Sir. We’ve lost all monitoring and tracking capabilities.’”

“I know,” Knock Out said again as he quickly held up his hands. “They made me remove all your receivers and wireless connection capabilities. You won’t be able to connect to anything on the ship anymore. I’m sorry.” He cringed again when he heard Soundwave’s T-cog grind in place as he tried to transform and failed. Soundwave seemed to cringe too for a moment as he grabbed at his side with both hands before turning his visor to Knock Out in question, and Knock Out shook his head. “There’s an I/D Chip in the visor. The virus the Autobots implanted in it has probably already spread through your systems, so even if you take the visor off, it still has an effect on you,” Knock Out took another step back, still expecting this to come to blows. “I’m _sorry._ They fit me with one too, and Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw, and probably Ravage by now_,”_ he shrugged apologetically as Soundwave stared at him, and he swore he could see the look of betrayal through his visor. He knew, with the visor, that Soundwave would understand him better now, actually acknowledge what he said, so he tried to take advantage of that before the Autobots pulled him from this room and he quite possibly never saw this bot again.

“Listen to me, Soundwave: You heard Megatron’s words, the Decepticons are no more. You know my situation with the Autobots. You saw my trial. You saw the outcome. They’ll try to put _you _on trial too. I told them you were different…I told them that you’re not fit to stand trial,” Knock Out was forced to pause as Soundwave threw his hands into the air, clearly angry, as he would have been more than happy to proclaim his Decepticon allegiance in front of the universe, consequences be damned. “I don’t care if that makes you mad,” Knock Out growled back. “You know yourself; you know your issues. How _quickly_ you seem to forget all that once you have your visor back to filter everything out for you, though,” Knock Out realized then, too late, that maybe he shouldn’t have said that, as suddenly Soundwave was right up in his face, grabbing him with both hands where normally he would have snaked out his tentacles to use them as weapons. Knock Out shoved him back, once, before Soundwave quickly overpowered him and had him pinned with his back against the wall. Knock Out struggled against the fear that was rising in his signature, but he knew it was pointless to try and hide it, as Soundwave would probably have picked up on his emotional response even before he did. He steeled himself against all of that however, his optics narrowing at his own reflection in Soundwave’s helm.

“I know the Decepticon cause is your life, but you heard what Megatron said, the cause is no more. _He _said it, Soundwave! It’s over! We lost! You have to focus on _you_ now, you and the Casettecons. I told the Autobots that you need to be with them. I told them that you need to be in the same cell,” Knock Out said, and Megatron’s growl issued from Soundwave’s helm in response as he gave Knock Out another shove, but Knock Out only glared. “They’re going to lock you up, Soundwave, just like me. But maybe, _hopefully, _you all can be together. Isn’t that what you want?” he asked, and suddenly he felt his anger leave him to quickly be replaced with sadness, the same, tank-wrenching sadness he’d been trying to escape when he went into stasis nearly a megacycle ago. His glare faltered as he shifted his gaze to the floor. “If you want to live, you’ll have an easier time of it if you surrender to the Autobots, and submit to them…Unless you _don’t_ want to live,” he paused, his optics going wide for a moment before he looked back to Soundwave. “Maybe that’s your best way out, really. It’s not like there’s much left for us, now. The Autobots hate us, the Neutrals hate us,” he stared at his reflection in Soundwave’s until he couldn’t stand to look himself in the optics any more, and he finally shook his head as he looked away again, his shoulders slumping against the wall. “Forget everything I said. Do what you want to do. Do whatever you feel is right, for you and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw and Ravage; for your family.”

Knock Out felt it then, Soundwave reaching inside of him with his invisible scanning capabilities, whatever they were, just like he’d done to First Aid the cycle before. It was not the first time Knock Out had experienced it, but he did not enjoy it, and he visibly shuddered as he felt the invasive procedure rolling through his frame. It was an odd feeling, like all of his sensors were being flooded with water. He tried to push Soundwave away and break free from his grip, but again, the mech had him overpowered, even in his weakened state. He shivered again, refusing to look at Soundwave now, because who knows what potentially embarrassing things the mech had gathered from such a reading.

Then suddenly Soundwave was clawing at Knock Out’s chassis with his fingers. The two bots grappled for a few nano-klicks before Soundwave flung Knock Out’s chest plates open with his hands, baring his spark chamber. Knock Out’s red spark glowed brightly through the hole created by the missing portion of the chamber walls, that piece having been given up to create his Decepticon badge a millennia ago. But instead of trying to escape Soundwave’s grasp, Knock Out merely froze, his optics clenched tight as he waited for Soundwave to stuff out his spark, for surely that was his intention. Only that moment never came. Knock Out felt Soundwave run his scan through his frame again, but this time, once he had gathered whatever data he was collecting, his helm speakers crackled to life as a recording of a new yet still very familiar voice issued forth.

“’Soundwave,’” said Optimus Prime, “’the Light is your second chance. You must find the others that carry it now, just as you do.’”

Knock Out’s optics went wide as he whipped his head back up to Soundwave, staring at him with shock that was apparent on both his face and in his signature as he spoke. “_What!?”_

With one hand, Soundwave reached into Knock Out’s frame and wrapped his thin fingers around Knock Out’s spark chamber. With the other, he tapped at his own chest plates. For one moment, he adjusted the opacity of his visor, so that Knock Out could clearly see his purple optics staring into his own reds, and see his mouth move as he spoke behind the glass, and his voice was clear as it came through the speakers in his helm.

“Operation Illumination.”

Then, through a painstaking process of listening to the sound bites and low-quality recordings that followed from Soundwave’s helm, Knock Out was able to gather that Soundwave had in fact met his demise in the Shadowzone, though at what point in the past megacycle was not clear. The sounds were hard to decipher, and Soundwave did not have any visual recordings to go with them, but there was a lot of screaming made by what Knock Out could only assume were the vocal chords of some organic beast, or _beasts,_ rather, as the shrieking was clearly made by more than one of them. Then there was scraping, and clawing, and the sounds of metal being ripped apart before more static, and then Optimus Prime’s voice became clear. It seemed that Soundwave’s deactivation had led him to that realm somewhere between life and death, where Optimus Prime had offered him a piece of the same Light he had offered to Knock Out and Bumblebee, and Soundwave had accepted. Why the mech hadn’t mentioned any of that until now, Knock Out was not sure. Perhaps the lack of a functioning visor had made it too difficult for him to communicate everything that had happened to him.

Optimus had said there would be more “like them” that “shared their power”, whatever that power was, but Knock Out had certainly not expected Soundwave to be one of those bots, and whatever that power was, he saw no indication of it in him. Knock Out did not know what to do with any of this new information.

But with the visor now fixed, and the reality of having to return to his cell on Earth, Knock Out could already feel himself longing for stasis. In recalling how he’d managed to shut himself down the first time, and not about to let a good opportunity go to waste, Knock Out grabbed Soundwave’s hands in his own, expecting the same reaction that he’d gotten when taking similar action with Bumblebee, that their sparks would merge, and somehow Knock Out would end up in his happy place where time and reality did not exist. All it did was piss Soundwave off. The much taller mech slammed Knock Out’s chest plates closed, wrestled him to the floor, threw the lead-lined tarp over his frame and then sat on him, as if to indicate that he knew exactly what Knock Out was attempting, and that he wasn’t going to help him go _anywhere,_ mentally or physically. And that was where Knock Out spent the next hour, while he listened to Soundwave recount his story of dying in the Shadowzone and meeting Optimus Prime. And he replayed the directions, over and over and over: “’The Light is your second chance. You must find the others that carry it now, just as you do.’”

Knock Out was not thrilled to be forced to listen to it all, but he commed Ratchet to ask for one more night in the room with Soundwave anyway. He knew this would be his last chance to try and get through to Soundwave, and now he believed he’d found an opening toward that goal. Relief flooded from his signature when Ratchet finally returned his comm allowing him to stay, so much so that Soundwave, well-aware of that feeling coming from Knock Out’s EM field regardless of the tarp, lifted one corner of the cover up so that he could turn his visor down to Knock Out’s still-glaring optics and present him with a smile emoji on his new screen.

“Very funny,” Knock Out growled. “You want me to ‘find the others’? Fine, but then you have to do something for _me_ in return.”

In the morning, Knock Out commed Ratchet again so that he and Soundwave could meet the Medics and the guards at the door to the storage room. At the sight of Soundwave, now fully restored with the visor, the guards immediately raised their weapons, but Ratchet was quick to hold them back with a hand, their instinctual paranoia of all things Decepticon momentarily put on pause as Ratchet looked from Soundwave to Knock Out expectantly.

“Tell them,” Knock Out said, his gaze on Soundwave as the other mech stood beside him. And again, in one more rare instance, Soundwave used his own voice to speak.

“Soundwave surrenders.”

Despite the fact that they were Decepticons, First Aid felt a surge of happiness when he watched Soundwave reunite with all of the Casettecons in the brig later that cycle. He could sense the joy and relief filling their shared cell, and he could not help the little swell of pride that always came from seeing the fruits of his labor pay off. Together, and with Knock Out’s assistance, the Medics had successfully restored and healed Soundwave and Laserbeak, managed to I/D Chip them, Ravage, and Buzzsaw, _and_ it had all gone over relatively peacefully. _That,_ First Aid supposed, was the real miracle, and he made sure to message everyone on the Council that said miracle would not have been possible without Knock Out’s help.

Knock Out did not share those feelings of happiness and pride, however. First Aid knew this because as they stood in the brig and watched Soundwave being put into the cell, all he could feel pulsing from Knock Out’s EM field was jealousy. It confused him at first, why Knock Out would be jealous of Soundwave’s imprisonment on the Nemesis, but then it hit him: It was the joy of being reunited with friends that Knock Out envied.

First Aid watched him turn away from the scene and mutter that he would wait for First Aid by the lift, then called out to him. “Knock Out, wait! We’re leaving after this. Don’t you want to say good-bye?”

“I already have,” Knock Out grumbled, and First Aid was not so sure that was true.

He felt Knock Out’s signature shift again when they returned to Earth. The jealousy was replaced by anger almost the very nano-klick they stepped through the Spacebridge back into the wide, open hangar of Unit E. It was late in the evening there, the time difference putting them more than twenty-four hours behind Cybertron, and all was quiet.

Refusing the offer of Energon after First Aid removed his stasis-cuffs (which First Aid thought were completely unnecessary for Bridge travel, but apparently the Nemesis Security Team felt otherwise), Knock Out had given one quick look around the hangar and then insisted on being put back in his cell. First Aid reluctantly agreed, though he wondered if Knock Out realized his signature was suggesting he didn’t want to go back there at all. He waited to see if Knock Out would say what he was actually feeling, but he never did, not even when he stepped into the cell and his EM field flared with despair as First Aid activated the metal bars that cork-screwed up into the ceiling to lock him in.

Crossing his servos, First Aid watched Knock Out slump onto the recharge slab with his back to him as he lowered his helm into his hands, and he mumbled through his palms.

“You can leave now.”

“Why? So you can go back into stasis?” First Aid said with a frown. Completely unaware of how Knock Out managed to put himself into stasis the first time, he was quite certain that the mech would begin shutting down his core processors the moment First Aid left him alone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You woke me up to do a job. I did it, it’s _done_ now. I’m _tired,”_ Knock Out vented a heavy sigh as he rubbed at his shuttered optics with his fingers. “And I have a long, _long _way to go to work off my sentence, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get started on that.”

“We woke you up because we needed your _help_, and you helped us. What you did with Soundwave was _amazing,”_ First Aid said as he gestured to Knock Out with both hands. “You knew exactly how to handle him; you were able to read him and act accordingly. You were patient, and gentle, and kind. You kept him calm. I don’t think anyone else could have done that for him.”

Normally that much praise would have kept Knock Out’s spark soaring for a decacycle, but the words barely had any effect on him at all as he opened his optics again to stare dully at the floor. “Yes, well…his visor’s fixed now. If you keep him locked up, the chances of it becoming broken again are relatively slim, so you won’t be needing my assistance again any time soon.”

“There’s still more good you can do here, you know. You can still help us rebuild.”

Knock Out scoffed to that. _“What ‘_good’? Sorting Energon crystals? I’m not doing that for the next four-hundred-and-fourteen megacycles,” he wasn’t even assuming he would get parole, with that number. He would screw it up somehow, he knew he would. All the more reason to go back into stasis.

First Aid shook his head. “You wouldn’t be doing that. Ratchet has something else for you to work on.”

Slowly turning on the slab, Knock Out eyed First Aid warily over his shoulder, and his thoughts went immediately to the conversation he’d had with Smokescreen last megacycle, about what his function had been before the war, and would the Autobots make him go back to that, now that it was well-known he wasn’t a certified Medic? “…What is it?” Knock Out dared to ask, and he could sense how confused First Aid was by his apprehension.

“I think Ratchet should be the one to tell you that, when he gets back from Cybertron. Will you at least hold off on going back into stasis until you talk to him?”

Knock Out rolled his optics before turning away from First Aid again, even though he was curious about this supposed new job. He quickly reasoned that if First Aid knew what it was and _wasn’t _freaking out about it, it surely had nothing to do with Knock Out’s primary function. That in itself was enough to pique his interest. _“Fine,”_ he muttered, indicating none of that interest in his reply or signature.

“Good. Thank you,” First Aid said with a smile, even though Knock Out couldn’t see it, but his signature was strong enough that his satisfaction would be felt by him. And when Knock Out seemed to have nothing more to say on the matter, First Aid finally stepped from the cell bars with a quick, “Well, goodnight, then,” before turning to go. He was only a quarter of the way down the corridor when he felt Knock Out’s signature, even at that distance, full of a sudden loneliness and nearing panic. First Aid stopped, turned around, and walked back to the cell to find Knock Out still hunched over with his face in his hands. Knowing that the ex-‘Con wasn’t going to admit to feeling anything, First Aid decided he wouldn’t attempt to ask Knock Out to express himself, yet. Instead, he offered him something to look forward to, however small.

“Sometimes I like to power-on early and watch the sun rise while I have my morning Energon ration. It’s really pretty, when the weather’s good. Would you like to do that with me tomorrow?” he asked, and when Knock Out gave a silent nod without a look or a word, First Aid still smiled. “Great. See you in…_Primus,_ it’s late,” he said, after checking the time on his internal chronometer. “See you in five Earth hours, then.”


	8. The Work Release Program

Knock Out stared out across the rocky terrain of the Nevada desert, the landscape still saturated in the deep blues and purples that colored the Earth in the last hour before the dawn. He and First Aid sat with their backs to the outer wall of Unit E, sipping Energon and awaiting the sun.

First Aid pointed out all the things that were visible to them from their current location on the human airbase. Off in the distance to their left stood a soaring mesa that closely-resembled Outpost Omega One. “Dead Man’s Tower”, First Aid said it was called, and then he said that he was not sure why the humans had chosen such a disheartening name for such a magnificent natural structure.

To their right, a dozen more buildings sprawled across the rest of the base, and beyond those, the control tower and air strip. First Aid talked about the many types of air-based vehicles he had seen land and take off there over the megacycles, and how once there had been a crash, and he got to transport one of the humans to the base hospital in his altmode. He talked about all the wildlife that he had seen while sitting there in the past: Rabbits, lizards, rattlesnakes, various types of birds, and even a coyote once. As they sat now, he was able to accurately identify the sound of two Mourning Doves as they called back and forth to one another from their hiding locations under the tufts of stiff desert grasses that dotted the open field directly in front of them.

Knock Out said nothing to all of this, though he was appreciative of the information, and to be outdoors for the first time in over a megacycle. He was also appreciative of First Aid’s ever-present, reassuring signature, which Knock Out tried to resist for only a klick before he gave in and let the soothing electromagnetic pulses wash over him. Where before he would have actively fought against them with his own signature, he found that he just didn’t have the energy anymore, and when he finally relaxed under First Aid’s sway, he felt stupid for ever putting up a fight against it to begin with.

The sun broke over the horizon just as Knock Out’s gratitude for First Aid’s presence flared through his EM field. He had seen the sun rise on Earth countless times before. In the thousands of megacycles that he and Breakdown had inhabited this planet as Neutrals, they had watched it together many times, and it was always impressive. Sunrises on Cybertron paled in comparison to those on Earth.

As the orange and yellow rays began to creep across the landscape towards them, he finally spoke.

“Why does Earth get all of the beautiful sunrises and sunsets? It’s really not fair.”

“Because of all the pollution in the atmosphere, mostly,” First Aid said with a shrug, and though that made the moment a bit depressing, he wasn’t going to lie about it.

“Well,” said Knock Out between sips from his Energon, _“that’s_ unfortunate.”

“It really is,” First Aid lamented, and Knock Out watched his visor darken several shades as the sun finally reached them. Then First Aid glanced up, smirking behind his mask as he pointed up at the sky. “Look.”

With no visor of his own, Knock Out was forced to squint his optics in the direction First Aid was pointing. He thought he caught the glint of light on metal as he slowly stood up from the ground, recalibrating his optic lenses several times and scanning for objects on his HUD, but nothing was popping up. “What is that?”

“It’s Steve.”

Knock Out’s radar had never been able to reach more than three-hundred meters, so he was not surprised the Vehicon was out of his range, but the speed with which Steve’s aerial altmode came raging over their helms _did _surprise him. It was only a matter of nano-klicks between First Aid pointing him out and his form suddenly streaking across the sky with a thunderous roar of engines that would have made Starscream jealous. Knock Out blinked as he watched the jet do a barrel roll before it disappeared over the other side of the building. The display had been quick, but Knock Out had still noticed many differences in the Vehicon’s altmode as he flew overhead.

_“That_ was Steve!?” he said as he gaped back to First Aid.

“Yep,” said First Aid, chuckling a bit as he stood as well and moved into the building, “what a show-off. He must realize Ratchet’s not here, or he would have never pulled that stunt.”

“Did he change his altmode?” Knock Out asked as he followed First Aid back into the building. “He looked…different.”

First Aid gave a nod to that, shutting the bay door behind them before he started down the long corridor that brought them into the main bay. “All three of them did, last megacycle. They all wanted their altmodes to look more Earth-based. Spam scanned a Dodge Charger, Click Bait chose a Cadillac Coupe de Ville, and Steve is an F-35A Lightning fighter jet, it’s some concept model the humans have been working on lately,” First Aid shrugged. “He’s been helping the U.S. Air Force with test flights.”

As though on cue, the hangar doors on the opposite end of the main bay slowly rolled open, and Steve, now transformed back into his protoform, walked in. Knock Out stopped dead in his tracks and gawked at the mech. The Vehicons had always stood taller than Knock Out, but with this new reconfiguration, Steve had added at least half a meter to his height since the last time Knock Out had seen him. He still resembled a Vehicon flyer, only now the aircraft-black-and-gray armor plating of the new fighter jet was configured in such a way that it increased his shoulder width significantly. In the world of mechanical beings, he was now considered buff as hell. Although his new schematics were quite close to resembling a Decepticon Seeker, Knock Out quickly noted the mech looked nothing like Starscream. He silently wondered how intentional that was, and did not fault Steve for it one bit.

Still a bit dumbstruck by Steve’s new design (and a little jealous, if he was being honest with himself), Knock Out was thrown for another loop when Steve was finally close enough that Knock Out could see that although he still sported the red “V” optical visor, the lower half of his mask was gone and had been replaced with an actual protoflesh jaw and mouth, which opened now as Steve gaped right back at him.

“Primus, that _was_ you out there with First Aid! It’s good to see you online, Sir—I mean _Knock Out,”_ Steve quickly corrected himself, recalling how Knock Out himself had insisted he no longer be addressed as an Officer.

“You…you’re…,” Knock Out was not sure if expressing his appreciation for a finely-configured set of armor was appropriate with a Vehicon, _any_ Vehicon, so he stuck with a question instead. “Who upgraded your faceplates?”

A small wave of embarrassment pulsed from Steve’s EM field, and he seemed to wither a bit under Knock Out’s roaming gaze, despite being taller than the ex-‘Con. “Uhh…Ratchet did. I always wanted working faceplates,” he said quickly, and he raised a hand to nervously rub at the back of his neck. “I dunno, I guess that’s kinda stupid.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” Knock Out replied, and he felt Steve’s signature suddenly relax slightly at that, though the two of them were still clearly uncomfortable around one another.

“Oh,” Steve swallowed hard before looking at his peds, “well, thanks.” A moment of awkward silence ensued, but they were saved by the sound engines outside the building, followed by the metal shiftings of two transformations before Click Bait, now black and silver in his Cadillac armor, walked into the bay, followed by Spam. Knock Out could see the lime-green palette with thick black pinstripes of Spam’s Charger armor plating, but the majority of it was plastered with bumper stickers. The two grounder mechs resembled their former Vehicon schematics more than Steve. They had not had their visors or masks altered in any way, but Click Bait’s boxy armor plating and the shiny chrome grille on his chest made him look much more imposing, while Spam’s choice of colors and the stickers made him visually “loud”. Knock Out was not surprised that all three had removed the stenciled Decepticon brands that had once been etched onto their chestplates. The Vehicons had never been allowed to endure the traditional Decepticon Branding Ceremony to have an actual metal badge created from a piece of their spark chamber. Megatron had always told them they were not worthy of such an honor.

Knock Out was just as impressed with Click Bait’s new armor configuration as he was with Steve’s, but Spam’s was…different. From where Knock Out stood as the pair approached, he could read several of the stickers that covered Spam’s frame, and he wondered how many of them the Vehicon actually understood, or whether or not their meanings had gone over his head completely. On one legplate Knock Out read “Hang up and Drive”, “Save the Bees”, and “Make Tacos not War.” On the other were stickers that read “My Other Ride Is Your Mom”, “My Child Is an Honor Student at Jasper Elementary,” “No Fear”, “Obama for President”, “Save the Dolphins”, and “Honk if You’re Horny”. On his right servo was a peace sign, an Apple Inc. logo, an Android logo, and a yellow equals sign. Stuck to the window plate-glass of Spam’s left servo were white decals of two crudely-drawn cars, a jet, and a cat. There was a pair of pink, fuzzy dice around his neck, and (perhaps the most distracting of all) a tiny figure of a Hawaiian hula girl stuck onto the top of his chest plates that rocked side to side with Spam’s every move. And all of that was just what Knock Out could see from the front.

“…Wow,” Knock Out stared and slowly raised a hand to the side of his faceplates, wanting so desperately to laugh but quickly shifting that reaction aside to process later. He slowly eyed Spam up and down and cleared his vocalizer before he moved his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. He shouldn’t laugh, he _knew_ he shouldn’t. If this was how Spam wanted to present himself to the world, he knew he should respect that, but it was hard, really, _really_ hard. “*Ahem!* This is, um…You look very unique, Spam.”

“Thanks!” Spam seemed blissfully ignorant of Knock Out’s efforts to hide his smile. “It’s good to see you, Sir!”

“Please don’t with the ‘Sir’,” Knock Out reminded him after swallowing down the last hints of laugher.

“Sorry, Sir—I mean, sorry,” Spam turned sheepish, then glanced over to Click Bait, only to glare at the look the other grounder was given him. “What!?”

“Tsk, I _told_ you you look ridiculous with all that stuff all over your plating,” Click Bait shook his helm before looking back to Knock Out, clearly aware of what the ex-‘Con was trying to hide. “Ratchet wouldn’t let him keep the truck nuts, thank Primus.”

Knock Out dropped his hand back to his side and raised a brow to Spam. “_Truck nuts?”_

“Oh my God,” a wave of embarrassment flooded from First Aid’s signature instantly as he covered his face with both hands, “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t bring those up anymore!”

“I know, right?” Click Bait said to Knock Out before scowling to Spam once more. “You’re _not_ a truck!” as though that was the reason behind Ratchet’s order.

“Yeah, but—"

“Anyway!” First Aid clapped his hands together once to get them all back on track. “How many crates of Energon were you able to fill this time?”

Steve shook his helm to his two Vehicon brothers, and Knock Out could sense from him that this back-and-forth was the new norm. It was interesting to see how the trio had developed themselves since being freed from Megatron’s tyranny, and how different yet still similar they had become. “Only twenty,” Steve said as he turned back to First Aid.

“Twenty is a lot! Good job! Just mark the coordinates, and the humans can to go pick them up. You guys should take the rest of the cycle off, you deserve it,” said First Aid as he moved to the comm station to pick up a datapad, which he then handed to Steve.

“Really?” Steve said as he reluctantly took the datapad. “I mean, we can fill more. There’s at least seven more Energon deposits in the mine.”

“Yes, really. You don’t have to work every cycle, you know that.”

Click Bait needed no more convincing than that as he turned and headed for the hallway that lead to the lift. “Sweet. I’m gonna call Miko and see if she wants to go for a drive.”

“Whatever,” Spam followed after him, and Knock Out could see a whole new set of bumper stickers, now that Spam’s back was turned. The one that caught his optic immediately read “Warning: This car turns into a Transformer.” Oh humans, they thought they were _so funny._ “I’m watching Netflix.”

“Ugh, Fast and Furious _again?_” Click Bait sighed.

“I’m only on the second one!”

“How many _are _there?”

Steve shook his helm again as he marked the coordinates of the Energon crates on the datapad grid, then handed it back to First Aid with faint smile. “Thanks for the cycle off, I know Spam and Click Bait appreciate it, even though they didn’t say as much,” he grumbled before heading for the bay doors.

“What are you gonna do?” First Aid asked.

“Go see if the humans wanna run some more test flights. I know, I know,” he quickly raised a hand to First Aid, who was getting ready to call him back, “I know it’s still work, but I like to keep busy. I promise I’ll end the cycle early. See ya later,” gave a nod to both mechs, then disappeared through the bay door.

“He works too hard,” First Aid shook his helm as he headed for the Medbay and nodded for Knock Out to follow. “Dare I say it, he’s almost like Ultra Magnus.”

Knock Out moved after First Aid, still reeling a bit from the encounter with the three Vehicons. “They’ve really changed.”

“Yes, for the better, mostly,” First Aid said with a smile, though Knock Out could have sword he heard the mech mutter something about truck nuts again as he set the datapad aside on a counter. He scrolled through a few more screens before he smiled back up to Knock Out. “Did you want any more Energon?”

Knock Out peered down into the half-full cube in his hand. “No, this is fine,” he said, then looked up to glance almost nervously around the Medbay. He had no idea what to do with himself now, or what was expected of him from here on out, and he found he was at a loss for words. First Aid, on the other hand, had plenty to talk about.

“Soooo, uhh,” First Aid started, suddenly clutching the datapad to his chest. Knock Out felt the mech’s signature shift to insecurity and a little embarrassment, and he did not understand why. “…I was wondering if I could ask you about something?”

_Oh, sweet Primus,_ Knock Out thought, _he did know._ First Aid had had the better part of a megacycle to put things together regarding all sorts of things about him, about his past and his lack of a Medic license and everything that had been revealed at his trial. Knock Out supposed he should have expected this, at some point, though he was a bit surprised First Aid would bring it up at all.

“I don’t like to be a gossip, I’m not that kind of mech, I swear!” First Aid continued as he quickly held up a hand.

“…I never thought you were,” Knock Out said, keeping the nervousness in his own signature close as he watched the Medic warily.

“Good! Because I’m _really_ not…It’s just…” First Aid paused, clearly debating whether or not he should ask his question, and Knock Out silently braced himself for it, wondering why he suddenly felt so embarrassed himself. “Were you_ really_ a Wrecker?”

“Oh,” Knock Out blinked, then inwardly sighed with relief, _“Ohhh._ No, I wasn’t. I mean…I was their Medic, for about a hundred megacycles, but I never took their oath. I wasn’t approached by one of them to sign on the way that all of their Warriorbots were,” he shrugged a shoulder before tossing back the rest of his Energon, then suddenly narrowed his red optics to First Aid. “Who told you that?”

First Aid hesitated a moment, unsure of whether or not he should be truthful, but then again, he hated to lie, to _anyone._ “Smokescreen,” he finally admitted, and he winced when Knock Out rolled his optics. “He also said that’s how you met Bulkhead and Wheeljack and…and Breakdown. Not that it’s _any _of my business, really!” First Aid held up his hand again.

“Oh, Primus,” Knock Out grumbled as he set his empty Energon cube aside on the counter and rubbed his fingers against his temples. This really _was_ right where he left off before going into stasis, wasn’t it? God _dammit. _“Yes, well…that’s all true, but it was a long time ago.”

“Who was leading the Wreckers when you were with them?” First Aid asked, apparently unphased by the fact that Knock Out was an unlicensed Medic working for the Wreckers to begin with.

“Impactor,” Knock Out said, lowering his hand and eyeing First Aid now as though the bot knew something he did not.

“Wow!” said First Aid with a sudden giddiness Knock Out had not seen from the mech before. “What was it like? Who else was on the team back then? Wait, I can figure it out, give me a nano-klick,” First Aid quickly looked to the datapad once more and began to tap his fingers across the screen. “I’ve been subscribing to _Wreckers: Declassified_ since Fisitron published the very first datalog!”

Knock Out was pretty sure he had never seen First Aid so excited about something so trivial in his life, and he couldn’t help but roll his optics again at the mention of _Wreckers: Declassified_, which was a collection of “historical” (and not necessarily accurate) datalogs that the mech Fisitron had been publishing for millions of megacycles. The datalogs had a massive following among the Autobots, and even some Neutrals. Although the publication was not officially sponsored or even authorized by the Wreckers, they had no problem with the free publicity the datalogs gave them. Fisitron was so deeply-entrenched in his idolization of the group that his dramatized, sanitized, and downright glorified accounts of the Wrecker’s “heroics” gave them a better public image than what the _actual _truth could have revealed about the team. Knock Out had read a few issues before proclaiming it was trash and then never picked one up again.

“Oh, First Aid,” he sighed with disappointment, “don’t tell me you’re one of those obsessive Wrecker fanbots?”

First Aid immediately looked up from the datapad and hugged it to himself once more, looking simultaneously hurt and guilty. “I’m not _obsessed_ with them,” _much._ “How come your designation was never listed in Fisitron’s publications?”

“I don’t know,” Knock Out shrugged, clearly not caring whether he was named in them or not. “Maybe because I wasn’t an official member?”

“Did you wear an Autobot badge while you were with them?” First Aid asked, and Knock Out blinked to the once-over the Medic was now giving his frame.

“No, I was a Neutral back then. They let me take the job because they were having difficulty keeping _any _medical staff onboard at all. I’m sure you can imagine why,” Knock Out said as he nodded to the datapad and the _Wrecker: Declassified_ datalogs it apparently contained.

“Yeah,” First Aid said, now looking a bit forlorn as he reluctantly set the datapad aside once more. “I remember seeing the want ad for their Medic position on the datastreams back then. I wanted to apply for it _so badly…”_

“Why didn’t you?” Knock Out said when it became apparent that First Aid was not going to explain his actions, or lack thereof, without further prodding.

Shrugging a shoulder, First Aid turned back to the counter and busied himself with a box of components that needed to be sorted, his signature filled with regret when he finally spoke. “I was too afraid back then,” he admitted, and Knock Out could sense the shame the bot carried over that, even though he was willing to say it out loud. Knock Out was trying to think of something nice to say, to make him feel better about his choice, but First Aid was too quick to move on. “So…you knew Springer, then?”

“Yes.”

“And Perceptor?”

“Yes.”

“And Kup?”

“Ugh, yes, that old jackaft,” Knock Out muttered, though he glanced away to hide the hint of a smile as he recalled the old mech, whom Knock Out had found annoying but still amusing nonetheless. “You know, he’s older than Ratchet. I think he might have been one of the first bots to crawl out of the Well. His serial number is only in the triple-digits, I swear to Primus.”

First Aid smiled to that as well. “Yeah. I got to meet him once. He had such _crazy_ stories. And you’re right, he’s ancient,” First Aid paused then, staring at the box of parts on the counter in front of him before he glanced back to Knock Out, daring to ask him another question that he’d been dying to know the answer to. “Speaking of…_ages_...if you don’t mind me asking another maybe-sort-of-personal question?” he said, and when Knock Out only raised a brow instead of giving him an outright “Yes, I _do_ mind”, he continued. “You know I have access to the Iacon Medical Academy (IMA) records. I saw that you were, what…one million megacycles old when you started? Why did you wait so long to attend?”

Now frozen like a deer in headlights, Knock Out frantically tried to think of a valid answer to that question, though when he finally did, he realized it was not very far from the truth. “Uhh…I was too afraid,” he said, shrugging a shoulder and looking away from First Aid.

“What do you mean? It’s just school.”

“I was afraid I would fail. And I did, so…” Knock Out shrugged again, leaving the rest unsaid.

First Aid offered a kind smile to that, now that he knew the history behind Knock Out’s lack of a degree. “It seems to me that you were just too busy. It’s just like you said before, the war was coming, but…you also had Smokescreen to look after. I can understand how education might become the least of your concerns.”

“I suppose,” Knock Out muttered, frowning at the sudden flood of memories this conversation was bringing up. “Is Bumblebee here?” he said as he quickly changed the subject and glanced around. “I haven’t seen him.”

“No,” First Aid replied, noting the change of subject, but not commenting on it. “He left last megacycle to assist Rodimus and Ultra Magnus with the peacekeeping efforts on Cybertron.” And when Knock Out gave him a confused look to that, he continued. “The Neutrals are…_upset_ about the way the planet was ruined by the war between the two factions. They don’t see the Autobots as the winners or their saviors…They kind of hate all of us…and each other. While we were fighting in the war, they were starting their own smaller factions off-world, and they don’t all get along. Now that they’re all returning to Cybertron, there’s been a lot of fighting over territory,” he raised both hands with a shrug, and Knock Out could feel the bot’s signature shifting again as it filled with worry and uncertainty. “Honestly, I’m glad to be on Earth. It sounds like another civil war is ready to kick off on Cybertron at any moment. It doesn’t really feel like we’ve won anything anymore. That must be Ratchet,” he paused when the sound of the Spacebridge coming to life drew his and Knock Out’s attention to the door of the Medbay, and within a few nano-klicks, the older Medic appeared. “Good morning!”

“Primus, is it morning again?” Ratchet grumbled as he rubbed a hand over his forehelm and watched his chronometer on his internal feed recalculate to Earth time. “Nothing like being forced to relive the same cycle twice.” With a vented sigh, he moved to one of the stools at the counter and slumped down onto it as he eyed Knock Out. “I stayed behind to call an emergency Council meeting with the others regarding Soundwave. We were able to patch a telecom line through to Rodimus and Bumblebee at Ky-Alexia. They’re trying to negotiate peace talks with a few of the rebel Neutral groups, and—” he started to say, then rolled his optics and waved his hands as he quickly decided that was not worth getting into right then and there. “It’s a mess. _Anyway_, the majority agreed to hold off on Soundwave’s trial until he can have a proper psychological evaluation from a licensed analyst. _However,_ until then, he and the Casettecons will remain in the brig.”

Immediately noting that Ratchet said “the majority” and not “everyone” agreed, Knock Out could not help but wonder which mechs had been against the idea (Prowl, Metalhawk and Ultra Magnus came to mind), but he did not ask, for he knew he would not get an answer. Instead he gave a solemn nod, and flared gratitude from his signature. “Thank you for doing that, I really appreciate it.”

Ratchet muttered a quick thanks to First Aid as the mech brought him an Energon ration before he narrowed his gaze back to Knock Out. “Soundwave didn’t. I went down to the brig to tell him and he started rambling on with some recording from Megatron about the unfairness of the Cybertonian judicial system.”

“He has a Megatron quote for everything. Don’t expect Soundwave to speak for himself, with his own vocalizer, if you go through with a trial, either,” said Knock Out.

“Hmm,” was all Ratchet said to that, and he eyed the Energon cube in his hand a moment before speaking once more. “Well, the Council was pleased you were able to assist us with Soundwave, and that you helped convince him to surrender. Your actions with him will definitely count towards your release to parole, when that time comes.”

“I’m gonna go help the humans collect the Energon crates the Vehicons prepped for pick-up this morning. I gave them the cycle off, by the way,” First Aid said to Ratchet as he started for the exit.

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Ratchet waved him away with a hand.

First Aid paused by the door, flicking his gaze to Knock Out, then batch to Ratchet. “Knock Out was asking about the job you had for him, now that he’s awake?” he said, then gave Knock Out a quick smile before walking out.

Ratchet watched First Aid go, then gave Knock Out such a long, hard stare that the ex-‘Con was momentarily worried. Slowly, Ratchet pushed himself up from the stool and headed across the room, gesturing for Knock Out to follow. He led him to the side office, the one that Knock Out and Chromedome had sat in when Chromedome had performed Mnemosurgery on him before the trial, only Knock Out quickly noted that an extension had since been built onto the room to make it longer and wider. The desk in the middle was gone, and the counterspace had been widened and elongated to fit the length of the walls. The back half of the room was now all shelving, tools, supply crates, and fabrication machinery. Small windows lined the top of one wall to allow natural light in from the outside, and a large window with plexiglass had been cut into the front wall to give a view of the main hangar.

Knock Out was impressed with the workshop. If ever he’d wanted to build one himself, he imagined it might look quite similar to this. He let his mind wander for a moment, about the slim possibility of having his own workshop again some cycle, when he spotted a toolbox on one of the counters. It was a bit beaten and worn, but the red Autobot symbol was still visible on its lid, and suddenly Knock Out realized where he’d seen it before: In another workshop—this one made from a converted Energon storage room on the Nemesis. The room had contained brand new body parts, and a blueprint of the Matrix, and the incomplete facial structure of Optimus Prime’s skull. In fact, all of the crates and supplies that had been in that storage room on the Nemesis were _here_ now, and Knock Out went ridged where he stood, recalling the one time he’d been in that room and discovered those things, and how very _very_ angry Ratchet had been when he’d found him there.

But now it was Knock Out who was angry, and he did nothing to hide that emotion as it flooded his EM field and the room they were standing in. He took one nano-klick to ponder if he should be trying to keep his anger to himself, to just go along with what he assumed Ratchet was asking him to do here, but that was all it took for him to come to his decision. He set his jaw, narrowing his optics at the supplies before he glared back to Ratchet beside him, and he did not care if his response meant a _lifetime_ behind bars without parole.

_“No._ No, I won’t rebuild him for you.”

Ratchet sighed, looking down at his peds in what Knock Out assumed was either disappointment or a precursor to some explosion of rage, but he was wrong on both counts, as Ratchet then looked back up and out to the workshop. “This room, these parts...they’re not for that purpose,” he said. “I’ve cancelled that project. It’s not what he would have wanted, I came to realize that this past megacycle.”

Startled by Ratchet’s response, Knock Out blinked to him, and then to the mixed feelings he was picking up from the old Medic’s signature: Sadness, but also acceptance, and a small sense of closure. In recalling Ratchet’s emotional reaction the first and only other time they had discussed “the project”, Knock Out was shocked the other mech was already at such a point after losing his Amica Endura. He did not know whether to feel happy for Ratchet, or jealous. He supposed he felt a little of both.

“What is all of this, then?” Knock Out finally asked as he looked around the room once more.

“Many of the bots returning to Cybertron are in need of new frame parts, both Autobots and Neutrals,” said Ratchet as he turned back to Knock Out. “The Neutral Medics, Fixit, First Aid, and I have been trying to keep up with the demand, but we all have other duties that are more pressing. Unless replacing the part is a matter of life or death, building it is a low priority. You did a good job with Soundwave’s visor; you were able to build it from scratch. Do you remember when you told me you got high marks at the IMA on your anatomy exams?” Ratchet asked as he crossed his servos over his chest. “Well, I double-checked that against First Aid’s records, and you weren’t kidding. You clearly have an extraordinary understanding of Transformer anatomy. _Unfortunately,”_ Ratchet narrowed his optics a bit, “you’ve spent the past million megacycles using that knowledge to _disassemble_ bots instead of _help _them. I thought you might like the opportunity to give back to the community by creating_ new_ parts for them, something you made with your _own_ hands instead of removing it from a corpse.”

“Everything you’ll need is here,” he continued as he waved a hand to the shelves and machinery, “the tools, the components, the raw materials, and if it isn’t, I can try to get it for you,” Ratchet watched as Knock Out eyed the room once more, and did not continue until the ex-‘Con looked back to him, for he wanted to convey the seriousness of the opportunity he was trying to present to him. “You said at your trial that you wanted to help rebuild Cybertron. You said you wanted a chance to make right all the wrongs you committed during the war. Well, that chance can start now, with you, in here, helping rebuild the bots that will rebuild the planet. Chances like this, and others in the future, aren’t available to you if you’re in stasis. You can _do_ this job. You’ll be _good_ at this job. But if you want to help and make a difference, you have to be _online_ and _present _and ready to work, understand? So,” Ratchet raised a brow as he concluded, “is that something you think you’d like to do?”

Knock Out listened in silence as Ratchet spoke, his previous aversions to what he thought the workshop was really for quickly dissipating as Ratchet explained everything. He slowly shifted his gaze from the toolbox with the Autobrand to the rest of the workspace and then finally back to Ratchet, and he could sense the importance the Medic felt for the situation through his signature. Although he could not hold Ratchet’s gaze when the mech brought up his past misgivings and the things he had said at the trial, he knew that Ratchet was right: This was his chance to help. He’d been begging for the chance all along, but the Autobots hadn’t let him, at least not in the beginning. Now the time had finally come, and he knew he’d be a fool not to accept the offer.

In that same moment, he realized he ought to be thankful that he was able to serve his sentence here, on this Earth base with these bots who actually seemed to care about what he was doing, with First Aid and his calming EM field, and Ratchet with his seemingly endless patience. Here were two bots that actually gave half a damn about his well-being, that would appreciate his work and praise him for it, and who did things like let him watch the sun rise. Knock Out realized there was probably nowhere else in the galaxy where _any_ species would treat him that way, let alone give him such an opportunity to try and redeem himself. He suddenly realized it could be worse, much, _much _worse. The Autobots could have reopened one of the Garrus prisons and just as easily locked him away there with who knows what other criminal bots, once Iacon’s population became larger and crime would no-doubt increase.

All of those thoughts went crashing through his processor all at once, and he felt almost startled by the realization of it all, as though it had been there the whole time and he’d just been unable to see it. “Yes,” he said as he finally looked back up to Ratchet and nodded, “I’d like that.”

Ratchet returned the nod before gesturing to the stool that stood beside the counter. “Then you can start in the next few cycles; you can familiarize yourself with the shop layout today. I’ll set you up with a parts order and blueprints from the list, and you can go from there,” he turned and moved to the doorway, though he paused to glance back and add, “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay online and assist. This is a good first step in the right direction,” then there was another pause, as Ratchet struggled to find the appropriate words. “You know that you’re a prisoner now, but you don’t have to be a prisoner to your past. Every cycle presents a new opportunity to work towards a brighter future for yourself,” he said, then rolled his optics. “That probably would have sounded better coming from Optimus. Oh well, you’re stuck with me,” he shrugged and left the room, completely missing the faint smile Knock Out gave him as he did so.


	9. The Deal

In the week that followed, Knock Out found that fabricating frame parts from scratch proved to be more difficult than he remembered. He didn’t mind a challenge, but the shop, Ratchet’s rules, and getting used to working with mismatched hands all quickly became frustrating aspects of the job he had not anticipated.

He was allowed full use of all the tools and machines in the shop, even the ones that he could have easily turned into weapons, but Ratchet gave him a full frame scan and shakedown of his armor compartments and subspaces before leaving the room, every time, and checked the room frequently for any signs of misuse. A privacy screen was added to the entrance door, which could be dropped from the top of the door frame to prevent Knock Out from seeing or hearing any official Medbay business. The door, as well as the large window that looked out into the main hangar could also be rigged to trigger Knock Out’s I/D Chip, should he ever get the urge to escape.

Ratchet also made him sign a written agreement that he understood the job he now had was a privilege and not a right, and that if he compromised the trust placed in him to have access to the tools and supplies in any way, he would be spending the entirety of every cycle in his cell instead. Along with that agreement was a new list of rules that pertained to more than just working in the shop. On the list of now-prohibited behaviors were:

Fighting and any other activity that constituted violence  
Disobeying a direct order from First Aid, Ratchet, or any member of the Council Disrespecting anyone, of any race or species  
Threatening or intimidating anyone, of any race or species  
Attempting to manipulate restraints, such as stasis cuffs  
Insubordination  
Lying  
Stealing  
Disruptive behavior

And then there were specifics:

The Vehicons were to be treated with respect at all times, and if he took issue with any of them, he had to take it up with Ratchet or First Aid instead of confronting them directly.  
He was allowed access to Earth’s internet via data pad, but not through his own internal feed (Ratchet modified his I/D Chip to block his ability to do so), and everything he accessed on the data pad was subject to being monitored and reviewed.  
He was not allowed to send or receive external messages to or from anyone that was not a member of the Council (not that he was expecting them one way or the other) without Ratchet or First Aid reading the message first.  
Occasionally, Earth military personnel came and went from the Unit E facility, and he was not allowed to speak to any of them unless spoken to first.

Knock Out’s immediate reaction was to feel insulted by all of this. Why he was being forced to sign such an agreement now, when they had not made him do so in the decacycle he’d been back on Earth before going into stasis, or even before returning to Cybertron to assist with Soundwave, he was not sure. Everything was much more formal, much more “by the book”, and he therefore suspected Ultra Magnus and Prowl had a hand in the agreement’s creation.

There was no sense in declining to sign, though; Knock Out knew better than that. He reminded himself again that he should be thankful he was not stuck in a Garrus on Cybertron, and that they trusted him enough to work alone with tools and supplies at all. And although that trust was clearly conditional, he still valued it.

The first frame part that Knock Out was given to fabricate was the left-hand thumb and partial palm of a bot that was around First Aid’s size. He was given only the blueprints for the part and the digital copy of the bot’s schematics downloaded onto a data pad along with the order. There were no identifiers with the blueprint, no designation of the bot who would be receiving the part, and no serial number.

He’d rolled his optics at the simplicity of the order at first, but once he got started with measuring out the thin pieces of metal, and then the more delicate work of the knuckle joint, he became much more aware of the newer set of his own, now-three-jointed fingers on his left hand. The newer set was not without benefits. It was much easier to grip and hang onto larger items with them, and it was surprisingly easier to tap and swipe at a data pad, something that Knock Out had always assumed everyone found as annoying as he did when the sharp tips of his previous fingers scratched the screen, or simply didn’t register at all because their points were too fine for the data pad to pick up on. But he found it difficult to manipulate the smaller tools with the blunted fingers, and while the extra dexterity was good for some work, it was a hinderance in others. He was ambidextrous, as most bots were, but there were many times where he had to stop and try something with one hand, then the other, just to see which one was better suited to the task. Soundwave’s visor had not given him nearly as much trouble, because he was already familiar with that piece and the components that made up the screen were all large and had not required the fine detailing necessary for the framework of a small hand.

All of Knock Out’s work was subject to Ratchet’s final approval, but he suddenly realized there had been no discussion about what would happen if he didn’t get it right the first time, or if he didn’t work fast enough, or if he wasted too many materials by starting over again. That, coupled with the fact Ratchet said there were currently over three thousand orders for new parts pending in the que, was enough to send Knock Out’s anxiety through the roof as he rushed his way through the order. What if he screwed this up? Would he be punished? Would he be put back in the cell? Would it count against his parole? Would they increase his sentence on the assumption he’d been lying about his abilities this whole time, IMA exams or not?

In no time at all, Knock Out had worked himself up into such a panic that he had to stop what he was doing and bury his face in his hands as his imagination conjured up the many, _many _ways in which he might suffer for failing. He was about to give up completely, to comm Ratchet and tell him he was wrong, he couldn’t do this after all, when First Aid wandered into the shop, already flaring his calming EM field, as though he’d sensed what he was walking into. Knock Out hesitated for only a second before he launched into a five-klick rant on everything he’d been worrying about for the past three hours. And when all was said and done, First Aid just smiled, told him everything would be fine, that there were no deadlines on anything, that he would not be in trouble if he needed to start over, and that the quality of work he produced had nothing to do with his parole or time being served.

And then the next cycle, Ratchet forced him to sit down with the frame piece between them and explain his entire process of building it, including which parts of the fabrication had been easy, which had been hard, and why. In the end, Ratchet had him remake the thumb, but he made sure to reiterate multiple times that there were no negative consequences because of it.

Knock Out had two unexpected visitors the first decacycle he was back online. The first one had snuck up on him with such stealth and silence that when it took a multi-tiered jump and landed on the counter beside him one afternoon, he’d let out a yelp of surprise and literally fell off his stool onto the floor, only to find a set of green feline eyes peering down at him from above.

Diesel, Spam’s cat (named after some actor in one of those _Fast and Furious_ movies he _never_ stopped talking about), was big (by Earth feline standards), white with brown patches, and very, very fluffy. The cat quickly developed a habit of lying down and sprawling across the data pad Knock Out used to store blueprints. No amount of yelling, clapping, replication of cat noises, or curse words in multiple universal languages by Knock Out would make it leave. He never tried to pick it up or move it though, because he was too afraid he might damage it somehow. Then he began to worry that all of his yelling, clapping, and hissing constituted prohibited behavior under “No threatening or intimidating anyone, of any race or species”, so he eventually stopped that as well.

Diesel, on the other hand, feared nothing. Not the gigantic metal creatures it lived with, not the whine of the band saw Knock Out used to cut steel and iron rods for parts, not the whir of the vacuum Knock Out used to clean his workspace at the end of the cycle, _nothing._ Knock Out could not decide if Diesel was courageous or utterly stupid. He was not a fan of cats, or of Earth animals in general. Most of them had fur that got everywhere and, like their human counterparts, left little footprints/fingerprints all over everything they touched. He didn’t really mind reptiles, because they had none of those qualities, but don’t even get him _started _on birds.

Once upon a time, he had tolerated Breakdown keeping three dogs outside their ship when they’d called it home after landing it on Earth, back when neither of them claimed allegiance to any faction. The dogs had in fact proved useful in alerting them to humans and other animals when they got too close to the vessel. But cats? Cats seemed to serve no real purpose. Apparently, Diesel did though. He had free roam of Unit E because he kept the local rodent vermin from taking up residence in the building, particularly in the colder months. Ratchet had at first insisted on setting mouse traps instead, but First Aid couldn’t bear the thought of killing the tiny creatures for simply existing, rationalizing that at least if Diesel caught them, he got a meal out of it. This was what the humans referred to as “the circle of life”, which First Aid had learned about from a movie called _The Lion King._ He’d been bugging Ratchet to watch it for megacycles, but Ratchet had always refused.

Knock Out’s second visitor had not been quite as stealthy as Diesel, but had left him equally surprised.

One Saturday morning while he was sitting in the shop, laboring over a ped frame the size of his own forearm, a low, human male voice suddenly spoke from the doorway. He had not heard the human approach, so he jumped a bit in his seat before whipping his head around to face the offending human, who was all smiles as it stepped into the room.

“Hey, Knock Out.”

Raising a brow, Knock Out’s optics gave the person a once-over, but his database of known humans was coming up empty. He did not recognize the male standing before him. It had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and brown optics, and the beginnings of a faint, scruffy goatee. Knock Out’s facial recognition software was running the human’s face against dozens of previously stored images, but nothing was matching up. This was not a human he had met before, yet it clearly knew him. “Who are you?” he finally asked, and he made a note to ask Ratchet later what the protocol was for unidentified humans on base.

“Rafael!” the human laughed, clearly amused by the question. “Come on, do I look _that _different from a year ago?”

Knock Out blinked to that, setting his tools aside so that he could grip the side of the counter and lean down closer to Rafael to get a better look. The human had grown another inch, possibly an inch and half, since they had last seen each other. _“Really? _Huh. I see you’ve had some upgrades.”

“I guess you could call it that, sure,” Rafael laughed again as he put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just got a little older, that’s all. And a little taller.”

“What happened to your optic enhancers?” Knock Out asked as he tapped a finger to his own brow.

“Oh, my glasses? I got contacts. I still wear the glasses sometimes, though.”

“Con-tacts,” Knock Out tried the word out before giving Rafael a once-over again, “I see. And you’ve altered your vocalizer.”

Rafael smirked to that. “Yeah, my voice dropped. It happens to all male humans in their teens.”

“Interesting,” said Knock Out as he straightened back up on his stool, and he watched as Rafael made his way into the room and slowly climbed his way up to the countertop to stand beside the ped frame Knock Out was working on.

“Did you uhh…have a nice sleep?” Rafael asked, unsure of how else to put it. He had worried this past year whether or not him telling Bumblebee about his discovery that Knock Out had secretly donated his T-cog to the bot had anything to do with the ex-‘Con going into stasis, but he did not bring that up now.

“Yes,” was all Knock Out said to that, and he glanced back to his work as well. He highly doubted the human would understand, let alone care, what stasis meant to a Transformer.

Rafael nodded to that as he stared at the framework. “That’s good,” he said as he reached out to run a hand over the welded metal of the foot. “You missed a lot of stuff while you were out.”

Knock Out paused in his work once the human got close to it. He had seen Rafael watch Ratchet work on frame parts before, had seen the way Ratchet described everything to him and what he was doing, but Knock Out was not sure _he_ should do that, if he was even _allowed_ to do that. “Like what?” he asked, curious as to what Rafael would say, though he wasn’t about to make it seem too obvious.

“Well,” Rafael thought for a moment, then shrugged as he looked back up to Knock Out, “Bumblebee went back to Cybertron a while ago. He hasn’t been back, but he sends me messages sometimes,” he smiled as he said that, though Knock Out could tell he missed the bot. “The Vehicons are still working the mines, and Steve’s pretty much in charge. He’s doing a good job, far as I can tell…What else,” he glanced to his feet in thought. “I’m in eleventh grade now. Jack and Miko started college. Actually, they just started their third semester. Jack has a girlfriend, so Miko and I don’t see much of him anymore,” Rafael rolled his eyes, then paused as he tried to recall anything else. “Oh! Agent Fowler and Jack’s mom are engaged.”

Knock Out did not mean to ignore everything Rafael said after mentioning Bumblebee, but the second he heard the designation, his thoughts drifted off with it. He had not made up his mind as to whether or not he should attempt to contact Bumblebee to tell him what Soundwave had said, that the mech also apparently now carried a piece of “The Light”. Optimus had instructed them all to find others like them, but now that Knock Out had “found” Soundwave, he was not sure what to do about it. What good would it do for Bumblebee if he knew? Although it might do some good for Soundwave, Knock Out realized, when and if he was put on trial. Knock Out was still trying to figure out if he ought to play that card now, or wait until it could be more useful, to him as much as to Soundwave. “Engaged?” he finally asked as he realized Rafael was staring at him, waiting for a response, and he found he did not understand the word in that context. “Engaged in what?”

“They’re engaged to be married,” Rafael explained, “Like Conjux Endura, but for humans.”

“Ahhh,” Knock Out nodded, finally understanding, then he blinked. “Wait, they _are?”_ Suddenly he recalled the time he’d taken Agent Fowler and June hostage, how they’d bickered with one another while locked up inside his trunk, and how he’d been _so sure_ that they were together already that he’d made fun of them for it. To now be proven right on his hunch made him prouder than he’d felt in a while. “Hah, I _knew _there was something going on there! That’s weird I can pick up on that stuff with humans too, though,” he narrowed his optics for a moment, wondering how or why that was possible, as he did not think his programming took human relations into account. Then he spotted Rafael still giving him a questioning look, and he quickly changed the subject. “Uhhh…How is your parental unit fairing? The one you told me about before.”

Rafael was not sure what Knock Out had been talking about a moment ago, but the mention of his “parental unit” suddenly gave him pause before he looked down to his sneakers again. “You mean my dad? He’s…not great. My mom is talking about putting him a home,” he said as he glanced back up to Knock Out, who was again giving him a look like he did not understand what he meant. “A home for humans with Alzheimer’s, where he can have people looking after him 24/7, that know how to help him.”

Knock Out frowned a bit as he watched Rafael’s demeanor change in an instant. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it just sort of…I dunno,” Rafael tossed his hands into the air as he shrugged. “It’s _not_ bad, but my mom feels like she’s failing him, like she’s giving up if she sends him away to live somewhere else. I guess I kinda feel like that, too, even though it’s what’s best…for everyone.”

“I’m sorry,” said Knock Out, for clearly he’d upset the human, and he certainly didn’t mean to. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

Rafael heaved a sigh as he shook his head and glanced to the metal components of the ped Knock Out had been working on. “It’s okay…I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you remembered,” he said, then he smiled back to Knock Out. “So, do you _also_ remember what I asked _you _about before? About maybe telling me some stuff? Stuff the Autobots won’t tell me?”

Knock Out had been wondering when the human would start asking about that again, and he could not help but roll his optics as he too looked back to the frame and picked up his tools to resume his work. “Yes, I remember.”

“You never gave me answer.”

With a vented sigh, Knock Out kept his gaze on his work, hoping his obvious display of annoyance would make Rafael leave, but the kid just stood there with his arms crossed, looking like a little mini Ratchet as he waited for a reply. “I’m not sure that I have the information you’re looking for.”

“I think that you do. Look,” Rafael said, though he paused to give a wary glance towards the doorway before he moved closer to Knock Out, standing right beside his left servo, which was way closer than Knock Out would have liked, “the Autobots have always been honest with me whenever I asked them about Cybertron and the war, but…I feel like I’ve been getting the G-rated version this whole time. Er, do you know what I mean by that?” he asked, suddenly realizing that maybe American movie ratings made no sense to the former ‘Con.

“Yes, I understand,” Knock Out replied. He’d seen many human-made movies over the megacycles, and was familiar with the term. “You’re older, so _now_ you want the R-rated version, correct?”

“Exactly. I’ll _always_ be a little kid to Ratchet. He’ll _never _tell me the things I wanna know about Functionism and your caste system, and CNA and Sparklings. Plus, he’s an Autobot. He doesn’t have the perspective of a Neutral, or a Decepticon, but you have _both_, don’t you?”

Knock Out sighed again, narrowing his optics to the doorway as well. He ran Rafael’s request against all of the prohibited behaviors and rules he had agreed to in the cycles prior. He didn’t feel that answering Rafael’s questions would be considered prohibited, no one had told him he wasn’t allowed to simply _converse_ with the children, it was the military personnel he was supposed to avoid. And Knock Out himself had nothing to lose. Still, Rafael clearly thought all of this should be kept a secret, so it would obviously upset Ratchet if he knew about it. Maybe. Or maybe the old mech would be thankful he wouldn’t be pestered with annoying human questions anymore? Knock Out lowered his vocalizer a bit before he spoke.

“Don’t you think that Ratchet will wonder what it is you’re doing in here with me if you start coming by more often?”

“I’ll tell him I’m watching you work,” Rafael shrugged. “I mean, I _will_ be watching you work anyway, so it’s not a lie. I like watching this kinda stuff. I watch Ratchet work all the time, when I’m here.”

Hesitancy pulsed from Knock Out’s EM field, though he knew Rafael couldn’t sense it. He saw no harm in agreeing to what Rafael was asking for, but he had the nagging suspicion that Ratchet would. Then again, Ratchet saw the harm in a lot of things that weren’t necessarily bad, Knock Out had picked up on that _real quick_ in the past few megacycles. Even Bumblebee and First Aid had brought up the old Medic’s cranky attitude and overabundance of caution around seemingly trivial things in the past.

“Alright,” Knock Out finally relented, but he was quick to point a sharp finger on his right hand to Rafael, “but if Ratchet finds out and gets angry about it, I’m placing the blame solely on _you._ You _made_ me tell you things, you didn’t give me a choice. You told me that if I didn’t answer all of your questions, you’d tell the Autobots that the big bad Decepticon threated to kill you.”

Rafael looked exasperated at Knock Out’s last. “You know I’d never _really_ do that!”

“Sure you wouldn’t, because humans are so _honest_ and _decent_ all of the time,” Knock Out rolled his optics, then paused in thought again. “Also, everything we discuss stays between you and me. You don’t tell a single being what we speak of, not the other humans, not the Autobots, no one. And don’t go thinking that just because I’m agreeing to this means I’ll answer _all_ of your questions. I still reserve the right to say ‘No’. _And,”_ he eyed Rafael again, “you agree to answer _my_ questions about humans and Earth, if I think of any.” He opened his mouth to say something more, thought better of it, then glanced back to the frame piece on the counter. “If I think of anything else, I’ll be sure to tell you. But for now, those are my terms.”

Narrowing his eyes, Rafael tried to catch Knock Out’s gaze again. “There’s something else already, you’re just not saying. What is it?”

Knock Out did not look back at the human as he pulled the framework closer to himself. “I was going to say I would appreciate you speaking on my behalf at my parole hearing, if that ever happens, but then I realized how ridiculous that request is.”

“Why?” Rafael blinked. “I could do that if you…Oh, right. That’s over four hundred years away,” he paused then, and furrowed his brow down at the countertop. “I’ll be dead.”


	10. The First Lesson

Incoming pink and yellow-colored laser rifle blasts left black scorch marks on the metal ground just ahead of Bumblebee. He scrambled on his four tires in an attempt to dodge the hail of rounds being fired from the very angry group of Neutrals pursuing him, and felt the sparks of one such blast shower over his rooftop as he threw himself into fifth gear and sped after Rodimus Prime, who had at least two hundred meters on him and showed no signs of slowing.

The pair had been in Ky-Alexia for more than two decacycles. The peace negotiations they had been attempting to broker between the two long-warring factions, Dead Moon Rising and Cosmic-Six, had come to a grinding halt when _someone_ decided they’d had enough and called it quits in the worst way possible. That someone was now leading the way, leading the _retreat,_ back towards their shuttle at speeds that Bumblebee could not keep up with.

By the time they reached the ship, Bumblebee thought he might burst a gasket as he sped up the ramp and into the ship’s hull just as Rodimus was bringing the engines online and initiating take-off. The former-Scout-turned-Warrior transformed, laying on his back on the deck, his doorwings out flat underneath him as he flared his vents wide and tried his best to cool his systems. He had definitely noticed a change in his performance ever since his fall off the Skybridge more than a megacycle ago. Ratchet had warned him his batteries would likely never be able to give him the same amount of energy as they once could, and while Bumblebee didn’t notice that often, when he was forced to outrun an angry mob of bots that wanted to rip him to pieces while trying to keep pace with another sports vehicle like him, yeah, he noticed.

Bumblebee watched the ramp oh the ship seal closed and felt the Energon in his tank shift as the ship’s downward thrusters propelled it off the ground before it turned and took off, slowly increasing in speed and height as it gained altitude. Bumblebee knew that as long as he kept his center of gravity low and remained on his back during take-off, he wouldn’t be forced to clamber for a chair and strap himself in to keep from being tossed around the interior.

“Well, that could have gone better!” Rodimus yelled back to him once the sounds of laser shots bursting against the hull could no longer be heard, and they were well out of harm’s way.

Finally pushing himself back up to his peds and claiming the navigation seat beside Rodimus, Bumblebee could not help but send a glare to the other mech as he buckled in. “Maybe if you hadn’t called both Chieftains ‘scrap-brained idiots unworthy of living on Cybertron’, it might have.”

“Hey, _someone_ had to say it!” Rodimus scoffed as he reached up to disengage the thrusters so that they could pause in a hover, now thousands of meters above the planet.

“It didn’t have to be _you! _This was supposed to be a peace-keeping mission! We were supposed to get them both to stop killing each other!”

Rodimus smirked to Bumblebee at that as he pushed the steering yolk away. “And look! We did it! They’re working together now, just like we wanted! Did you see how both groups joined forces to come after us? They’re a team now!”

“Yes, because they want to _kill_ us!”

“Speakin’ of teams,” Rodimus leaned back in his seat and casually propped his heels up onto the control console between them, as though they hadn’t just been running for their lives, “I think I recognized one of those mechs from one of the old Lob Ball leagues. D’you think now that the war’s over they’ll start putting teams back together?”

Bumblebee stared for a moment before he rolled his optics and then buried his faceplates in his hands for perhaps the hundredth time since the two of them had been on this mission. “I really wish you’d take this more seriously,” he mumbled. Rodimus not taking things seriously was, of course, nothing new, but this was the first time that Bumblebee was forced work with him as an equal, and alone, without any other higher-ranking bots to reign in his blasé attitude once in a while so that actual work could be done.

“Psh, why _should_ I? Why should _you?” _Rodimus gestured to the front of the ship with a hand as if to indicate the ground below. _“They’re_ not gonna listen to us no matter what we say, _none_ of them. All of this—these stupid ‘peace-keeping missions’, they’re pointless, ‘Bee. You heard the Neutrals back at New Iacon, they hate us. They hate _all_ of us, the Autobots, the ‘Cons, we’re all the same bots to them. These missions are a waste of time.”

“What do _you _think we should be doing, then?” Bumblebee said as he finally looked back up to him. “We have to convince them we saved the planet for _them_ as much as for us, because we _did _do it for them as much as for us!”

Rodimus stretched a servo out in front of him, tsking at the fresh scorch mark that tarnished the chrome finish of the piping on his plating there before he replied. “I don’t know _what_ we should be doing, but zipping around Cybertron from one ungrateful group of bots to the next trying to convince them we’re in charge isn’t working.” He sighed, as though the whole thing was such a bother, then grinned to Bumblebee again. “Frag it though, it’s fine. We don’t need _everyone_ on our side. And hey, if the Dead Moon Rising and Cosmic-Six kill each other now that we’re gone, that’s two more groups we don’t have to convince, right?”

Bumblebee sighed as well, though for very different reasons as he set his chin in one hand and tapped at his own console with the other, suddenly sullen. “You know that’s not the answer, either. Primus, I wish Optimus was here. He’d know what to do. He’d be able to convince _all_ of them.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You saw those signs some of the NAILs—"

“You shouldn’t call them that."

“— were carrying around back in the city,” Rodimus frowned as he was interrupted, though carried right on. “They’re protesting the Autobots like we’re some kinda dictatorship that just swooped in and took over. Like we didn’t just win a four-million megacycle war that saved them all from the forces of evil. I’m not sure even Optimus couldn’t convince them otherwise, at this point.”

Refusing to believe any of that for a nano-klick, Bumblebee narrowed his blue optics to the screen embedded in the console. “I’ll message Magnus and give him an update on our _failure_ here before we head out to the next location.”

Rodimus shrugged, unphased by Bumblebee’s assessment of the outcome. Let the mech think they’d failed,_ he_ certainly didn’t see it that way. “If anyone’s failed out here, it was _them,_ not us,” he said as he tried to rub out the charred markings on his forearm with his fingers.

Bumblebee said nothing to that, refusing to keep up the topic of conversation as he shook his helm and typed a message to Ultra Magnus into the console. He did not sugar-coat the truth of the matter in his message, and made sure to note that he believed he and Rodimus had failed the mission. Once the message was sent, he slumped back in his seat and crossed his servos as he attempted to give Rodimus the cold shoulder, but his overriding sense of care eventually got the better of him, and he eyed the other mech and his scorched servo with worry. “Are you okay? I didn’t realize you’d taken a hit.”

“Psh, I’m fine, relax,” Rodimus waved him off and quit picking at the bubbling paint on his arm. “You oughta be worrying about yourself and your inability to keep up with me out there. Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

“It _isn’t_ normally that bad.”

“Hmm,” was all Rodimus said to that as he gave Bumblebee a doubtful look, then he raised a brow as an alert pinged on the screen display in front of Bumblebee. Ultra Magnus had replied to his message already. That was not a good sign. “Primus, that was quick. And how is dear old Mags?” he asked as Bumblebee tapped the screen to open the external message and skim through it.

“Disappointed,” Bumblebee muttered as he continued to read.

“Nothing new then, eh?”

“He wants us to try making contact with the Xerosians next.”

Rodimus let out a groan of annoyance as he wiped his fingers down his faceplates. “And where are _they _located?”

Bumblebee hesitated then, because he knew the answer would set Rodimus off. On the other hand, so be it, they were given the orders, they had to follow the orders, and if Rodimus didn’t like it, oh well. “…The Sulphur Sphere Forest.”

“The _Sulphur Sphere Forest?”_ Rodimus blinked to Bumblebee, and even went so far as to grab him by the servo with a hand. “You mean the forest just north of Kaon made up of big, round, spherical objects that stand fifty meters high and emit noxious fumes that smell like something crawled up a bot’s tailpipe and _died?”_

“The very same,” Bumblebee jerked his arm away so that he could tap the screen again with his now-free hand. “I’ll plug in the navigation coordinates.”

_“No.”_

_“What?”_ Bumblebee said as he narrowed his optics back to Rodimus at that, a small twinge of anger rising up in his EM field.

Rodimus quickly stood up from his seat and slammed his hand down on the monitor before Bumblebee could enter in the data. _“No!_ No, I’m not doing this! I’m not going. _We’re_ not going!”

“Mech, we _have_ to! This is what we _do_ now! _This_ is the task we’ve been given to assist in the rebuilding of our planet!”

Rodimus slammed his hand on the console again and pointed at Bumblebee with the other. “We don’t have to do _slag!_ We’re _Commanders,_ Bumblebee! We _give _the orders, we don’t _take_ them!” he yelled, then reached forward to pull the steering yolk back towards his seat and began to power up the ship’s engines. “Buckle up, we’re going back to New Iacon to reevaluate the situation.”

Bumblebee narrowed his optics as he watched Rodimus restart the ship. “You’re giving up, then? Just like that?”

“I’m not giving up,” Rodimus said as he punched in the coordinates for Iacon on his console, “I’m calling a time-out so that all us Commanders can regroup and decide what’s the next best course of action, because the path we’ve been on for the past four stellarcycles is _clearly_ getting us nowhere.”

Now it was Bumblebee’s turn to slam his hand onto the ship console in front of Rodimus, standing up from his seat so that he could glare down to the orange and yellow-colored mech as he did so. “Set a course for the forest. _Now,” _he commanded.

Eyeing Bumblebee’s hand, Rodimus narrowed his optics for only a nano-klick before he glanced up to the other mech and smirked. _“Nope._ I don’t _take _orders, remember? Neither do you, not anymore. That’s your problem, ‘Bee. You’re too used to just blindly following whatever commands you’re given. Maybe that made more sense when those commands were coming from Optimus, but they’re not coming from him anymore, they’re coming from bots that are supposed to be your inferiors and you’re letting them push you around. Listen, sometimes you have to know when to stand up say ‘enough is enough’.”

“Like how you did with the Chieftains back there?” Bumblebee said with a pointed look.

“_Exactly!” _Rodimus exclaimed._ “Now_ you’re getting it!” He grinned to himself as he re-engaged the ship’s engine thrusters, propelling them toward the city as Bumblebee continued to glare down at him. “Also,” he offered, whether Bumblebee wanted the critique or not, “you need to work on your angry face and your vocalizer inflection when you’re trying to be intimidating. I realize you’re probably out of practice on that last bit, given you were without a vocalizer for, like, most of the war, but don’t worry! I’ll give you some tips I picked up while working with Prowl.”

Bumblebee could feel his anger rising and clouding his EM field. It was not like him to get angry; he’d always been the bot to lift others’ spirits, even in the worst of times during the war, but ever since it had ended, anger had become his natural response to more and more situations. His frustration had given way to fury so many times now, at Optimus for leaving them, at Ratchet and Knock Out for going behind his back with the T-cog, at the Neutrals for not trusting them, at Rodimus Prime for being Rodimus Prime. ”Drop me off on the edge of the forest, then,” he muttered as he started to walk away, back towards the small cargo hold of the shuttle, “I’ll go by myself.”

“Oh, come _on,_ ‘Bee!” Rodimus rolled his optics as he turned and leaned around the back of his chair to watch Bumblebee go. “This is another hopeless cause. Come back to New Iacon with me, we’ll gather the Council and—"

“Just fragging _do it,_ _Hot Rod!”_ Bumblebee paused to turn and yell at the mech and push his rage-filled signature out towards him in a threatening manner.

“Ooo, hittin’ me where it hurts! See? That was _much_ better!” Rodimus applauded Bumblebee’s efforts, smiling as he watched the bot turn and stalk down the hallway. “Bravo!”

Several weeks passed before Rafael returned to Unit E. Knock Out had by now fallen into the Ratchet-imposed routine of taking his morning Energon ration with the other bots, and then spending the rest of each cycle in the shop filling orders for frame parts. He still met with Ratchet on a daily basis so that the old mech could evaluate his work, and while his pieces were still far from perfect and frequently needed retooling, Knock Out found he was still continually thankful to have the job at all, and thankful that instead of berating him for his errors, Ratchet actually took the time to teach him something new and/or useful. Knock Out would never admit out loud that he actually _enjoyed _learning new things from the Autobot Medic but, however pathetic he felt his situation had become, the work _did_ give him a small sense of purpose. He tried not to make it so obvious that he was enjoying himself, and he tried not to let that feeling seep into his EM field, though he was certain First Aid could tell, and it embarrassed the hell out of him.

It was a cold Saturday morning in early October when Rafael showed up with his usual backpack and laptop in tow. He had taken the past few weeks to construct a very lengthy list of questions for Knock Out, which he then mulled over for hours at a time in terms of which he should ask first, which ones Knock Out might refuse to answer at all, which ones might cost him a bit of embarrassment to admit he was curious about, and which he should maybe hold off on bringing up until he could get a better sense of whether or not Knock Out was actually the reliable source of information he hoped he was. Rafael realized Knock Out could very easily feed him misinformation with every single answer, whatever his reasons for that might be, so he was prepared to take everything he heard from the mech with a grain of salt.

Knock Out had been silently wondering where the little human had gone off too in the past decacycle, though he certainly hadn’t asked Ratchet or First Aid about his absence. He was beginning to think Rafael had changed his mind, which was fine with him, so when the teen’s tiny form came clambering up onto the far side of the table that morning, he blinked in surprise as he looked up from the large ball-and-socket joint he was preparing that would eventually become some bot’s knee.

“You were serious, then?” Knock Out asked before looking back to the joint.

“Of course!” said Rafael as he walked closer to take a look at the part on the table and tried to guess what it was. “Did you think I was kidding?”

“Partly,” Knock Out shrugged, seemingly not caring one way or the other. He eyed the open entryway to the room, then glanced back to Rafael as he lowered the volume on his vocalizer. “Did Ratchet ask you why you were coming in here?”

“He’s not out there,” Rafael said as he sat down on the counter at a distance far enough from Knock Out’s work that he thought his physical presence wouldn’t interfere with it. He pulled his laptop from his bag and powered it on. “I’m not sure where he is.”

“Hmm,” Knock Out was unsure of the Medic’s presence then as well, though if the Medbay was empty, that meant the sensor on the doorway that triggered his I/D chip was probably active. Ratchet had told him as much would happen, if there was no one in the Medbay to “supervise him.” He made a note to stay the hell away from the door for the time being, before looking back to Rafael. “Perhaps we should keep our vocalizers set to ‘Low’ either way.”

“I can do that,” Rafael said quietly, eyeing Knock Out in return as he tapped on his laptop keyboard.

“Good. Well, then,” Knock Out shifted his attention back to his work, though he did glance to Rafael occasionally, “before you start in with your questions, why don’t you tell me what you already know.”

Rafael was not expecting that, and he blinked up to Knock Out suddenly. “Er…in what context?”

“Tell me what you know about the history of Cyberton, and Cybertronians. You said you want to know about our CNA and our caste system, our pre-war existence. So,” Knock Out shrugged, “tell me what you know of it already.”

Rafael took a few minutes to review everything he’d been told about such things by the Autobots before responding. Knock Out listened in complete silence, letting Rafael explain things in his own words, and without adding his own two cents in or correcting him when he felt Rafael was wrong on some accounts. It was amusing to hear a human recounting the history of Cybertron. Knock Out had never heard it told by another species before; he had never heard it from an outsider’s perspective. At first, he assumed that the Autobots had been the ones to fill Rafael’s head with _their version_ of events, but he was surprised to find that while the human _had _gotten most of his information from the old Team Prime, he had also done his own research by accessing the Cybertron Historical Archives, which was apparent in his response. He had a very clear understanding of the historical time periods, from the creation of the Thirteen Primes all the way up to the Great War. But there were definitely parts missing from his timeline. In terms of the caste system, he knew only that it had existed and that it was “not good”, he could not elaborate further, and regarding CNA, he knew nothing. Likewise, his understanding of everything he _did_ know was as Rafael himself had admitted earlier: A bit childish and “G-rated”.

Knock Out expected Rafael’s questions to come from that same vein of ignorance and naivete. He was expecting questions about weaponry, or torture, or what Megatron liked to have for breakfast, or some other ridiculous nonsense that only a human would ask, so he was surprised when Rafael’s first question was so simple and innocent.

“Tell me about names.”

_“Names?”_ Knock Out blinked, unsure of what he even meant. “What _names?”_

“Transformer names. _Designations._ Like, how come so many of you have designations that reference stuff on Earth? Like ‘Bumblebee’. Why is he named after a fuzzy Earth insect, or do you guys actually have some sort of similar creature on Cybertron and he looks like one?” Rafael asked. “Or did he just pick it because he saw one when he came here and he’s black and yellow like a bumblebee?”

Still stumped at that one, Knock Out stared at Rafael for a moment. Had the others really not explained _anything_ to the kids? “The Autobots refused to tell you about _designations?” _It seemed like such a trivial thing.

“No, I guess I just never thought to ask,” Rafael said as he shrugged, though the truth was more along the lines of that he’d always been too embarrassed to ask.

“Hmm. Well, we _do_ have something similar to what you call insects on Cybertron, different than the Insecticons, and with a much smaller mental capacity. But I suppose the designation ‘Bumblebee’ is just how it’s translated from Cybertronian into your Earth ‘English’ dialect,” Knock Out said, shifting the large metal frame on the table in front of him so that he could reach it from a different angle with the sander he was using. “It’s just coincidence that the Earth insect and Bumblebee the mech both share the same color palette. ‘Bumblebee’ is the closest thing to the true meaning of his designation in Cybertronian. Surely your own designation has a meaning?”

“It does. My name means ‘He has healed’.”

“Ah, a healer. A _Medic.”_

Rafael smiled to that. “Yeah, kinda. I think if I were Cybertronian, that’s what I would have wanted to be, a Medic, so it fits. What does ‘Bumblebee’ actually mean in Cybertronian, then?”

“Some designations translate into Earth languages better than others,” said Knock Out, “‘Bumblebee’ is a hard one.” He had been speaking to Rafael in English, but now he switched to Cybertronian, speaking Bumblebee’s designation aloud several times before attempting to translate its meaning into English words. “It’s means something like…busy, and quick; moving with a sense of purpose and direction; a hard worker. I suppose that makes sense, given Bumblebee’s Courier function before the war. Does that make sense in _your _language?”

“Yes! ‘Busy as a bee’ is a saying here, it makes total sense,” and now Rafael started to wonder about the designations of all the others. “What does ‘Ratchet’ mean?”

“Movement or change as a series of steps in an irreversible process,” Knock Out said after thinking on it a moment, and he offered a shrug to Rafael’s blank look. “If you think of it in mechanical and medical contexts, it makes more sense.”

“Oh,” Rafael furrowed his brow in thought for a moment before raising it to Knock Out once more. “What does _your _designation mean?”

Knock Out deliberately kept his gaze on his work and cleared his vocalizer before muttering his response. _“*Ahem* _Powerful beauty.”

Rafael blinked to that, not picking up on Knock Out’s sudden nervousness at all. “Huh. Does _that _make more sense in a mechanical and medical context, too?”

“Heh…no.”

Knock Out’s answer only confused Rafael more, but he did not dwell on it for very long. “’Bumblebee’ in Spanish is ‘Abejorro’. Sometimes I accidentally call him “Abeja”, for “’Bee’.”

“You’re bilingual, then?” Knock Out asked, or was that trilingual, considering the human could understand and read Cybertronian as well? He was also not at all surprised that Rafael continually used Bumblebee as a reference point in their conversation, though Knock Out himself found that talking about the mech made him oddly uncomfortable. He still had not contacted the Autobot Commander regarding Soundwave and “The Light”, and had no immediate plans to do so. He was still far too embarrassed about what he’d admitted to Bumblebee before he went into stasis, and he did not want to put himself in any sort of situation where Bumblebee might bring that up.

“Yes,” Rafael replied. “My family is originally from Mexico. I wasn’t born there, but my parents and my grandparents were. We mostly speak Spanish at home.”

“I’m familiar with the language,” said Knock Out as he turned the frame on the table again.

“Really?” Rafael seemed to perk up a bit. “Can you speak it?”

“Un poco,” Knock Out said, and he pinched his pointy fingers together for a moment. He was not expecting the smile from Rafael at that.

“Cool! I tried teaching ‘Bee and Ratchet a few phrases, but they could never catch on. Do you speak any other Earth languages?”

Now it was Knock Out’s turn to hesitate as he went back to sanding down the welds that joined the metal pieces of the frame in front of him. A million megacycles working under the Decepticons had taught him to be careful with how much information one revealed about oneself. But the war was over now, he had to keep reminding himself of that, and the Decepticons were all but dust in the wind. “Maori,” he finally admitted, like it was something to keep secret.

“Maori?” Rafael raised a brow before doing a quick search for the word on his laptop. “The indigenous language of the Maori tribe in New Zealand?”

Knock Out was not surprised the human did not recognize the language. “The very same.”

“Why?”

_“Why?”_ Knock Out blinked, and tried to come up with a decent response that was not a lie. “…It was the first place on Earth that I encountered humans. Well...not so much _encountered _as _observed,_ I guess. It was beneficial to learn their language for the um...for…observational purposes.”

“Huh. That makes sense,” Rafael mused, then eyed Knock Out suspiciously. “Wait, you know Maori and Spanish, but then how come when you speak English, you kinda have a British accent?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rafael laughed out loud to that as he gestured to Knock Out with both hands. _“Exactly!_ You don’t hear it? How did you learn English?”

It took Knock Out a moment to pull up the file on that moment, for it was not something he held out as being particularly important in his memories. “I think I did a search for the language through the onboard computer database of a ship when I was travelling between planets for a while.”

“What Earth year was that? Do you remember?”

“Hmm, fourteen or fifteen-hundred-something,” Knock Out shrugged before he stepped away from the counter to search for a tool in a nearby cabinet.

“And that database probably pulled up ‘English’ as in the British Empire. America wasn’t even colonized yet,” Rafael said as he blinked up from his laptop screen. _“Wow._ Sometimes I forget how old you guys are!” He was not surprised that Knock Out merely shrugged to that. Rafael had quickly learned among the Autobots that their concept and understanding of time would never be the same as it was for humans. “How old do you think Ratchet is?” he asked next.

“_Old,” _Knock Out replied without pause as he moved from the cabinet and opened one of the drawers in a standing tool chest, producing a small chisel._ “_If I had to guess, I’d say he’s from the Third Age.”

“The Age of Origins?”

Knock Out nodded as he walked back to the counter and began to carefully shave curls of extra welding material from the interior of the frame’s socket. “He won’t tell you himself, eh?”

“Nope.”

“That’s how you _know_ he’s old, then.”

“Yeah,” Rafael said with a faint smile, though it was quick to leave him. “…I worry about him sometimes,” he admitted as he watched Knock Out.

“Why?”

“Because of his age, I mean. I think it’s starting to affect him. Like, sometimes his hands freeze up.”

“Freeze up?” Knock Out said, though he kept his focus on his work.

Rafael nodded, lifting both hands and making “claws” with his fingers. “Yeah, like this. They get, like, stuck. They lock up.”

Knock Out finally glanced over to Rafael again, noting the way he held his hands. Now he couldn’t help but try to diagnose Ratchet’s supposed problem based on the child’s description. “They get stuck in the same position, every time?”

“No,” Rafael shook his head as he put his hands back down on the keyboard of his laptop, “just stuck in general.”

“Hmm. How often? What is he doing when it happens?” Knock Out had never seen what Rafael was describing, but he was also quite certain the older mech would hide such an ailment, a _weakness,_ from any and all Decepticons, former or not.

“I dunno how often, I’m not here every day anymore. But on the days that I am, and I’m here all day, like on a weekend?” Rafael thought for a moment, “At least two or three times. It’s always when he’s working on something, usually when he’s holding tools, like you’re doing now,” he pointed to the chisel in Knock Out’s left hand.

Eyeing the tool for a moment, Knock Out rolled it between his fingers in thought before setting it down and mimicking the “claws” Rafael had just shown him. “Both hands do _this?_ At the same time?”

“No, it’s one or the other. Never both at the same time.”

“What does he do to fix it?”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “He hits the frozen hand with a mallet.”

Knock Out rolled his optics as well, and picked up the chisel once more. “Of course he does.”

“I don’t think he’s been taking very good care of himself.”

“That sounds about right,” Knock Out agreed. He turned the metal framework again before starting in on another weld point with the chisel. “I hear the way his joints and axles creak when he moves.”

“Yeah, me too,” Rafael said with a nod. He eyed the open doorway to the shop again before quickly looking back to Knock Out. “…Do you like him? I mean…do you get along with him now?”

Knock Out straightened his posture to that, narrowing his optics at the question. It was not something he’d really considered, beyond the fact that Ratchet had actually let him help out with Soundwave, and given him this job, and treated him fairly at his trial, and sympathized with his loss of Breakdown, and didn’t make fun of him or belittle him when he mentally freaked out once in a while, and basically encouraged him to be a better mech in general. Okay, so Ratchet had done a lot for him, a _lot._ But did he _like _him? _“Well,”_ Knock Out shrugged, unwilling to acknowledge any feeling about it at all, at this point, and he had plenty of excuses as to why, “I don’t know that I’m really in the position to _like_ him, but he’s not so bad,” he shrugged again, shaking his head at himself before leaning back down over the frame piece. “He’s alright, although he certainly _wasn’t _at the beginning of all of this ‘end of the war’ stuff.”

“He didn’t like me in the beginning either, y’know,” Rafael offered, raising a brow when Knock Out gave him a doubtful look.

“Why? Are you a _war criminal_ too?”

“No, but I’m human. He hasn’t always liked humans.”

“Really?”

Rafael nodded, hesitating for a moment. He wondered, just for a second, if he ought to be telling the ex-‘Con these things, but he rationalized it through the understanding that their war was over, and that Knock Out would still be in prison well after the entire current human population of Earth was dead. “Bumblebee told me once that me and Jack and Miko weren’t the first humans the Autobots ever worked with. There were others…I think something bad happened to them, or…” Rafael paused when Knock Out turned to look at him once more. “I’m not really sure what their story was, Bumblebee wouldn’t talk about it much, just that some things went wrong. I felt bad asking him for more info, so eventually I just let it go, and he never brought it up again,” he shrugged. ”When us three kids showed up, I think maybe it made Ratchet mad somehow, maybe because of the other humans he’d worked with, and what happened to them?”

Although he was listening intently, Knock Out tried not to make it so obvious as he casually went back to his work. He had made it a point to stay far, _far _away from the Autobots during the megacycles he and Breakdown were living on Earth while the war was still on. They had not kept tabs on the Autobots, or which, if any, humans they had been working with back then, so all of this was news to him. He had always assumed that the three children were the first humans the Autobots had made contact with, but that was apparently not true. Either way, it no longer mattered. “Interesting,” he said, and he realized that he had found a potential use for Rafael himself. “But Ratchet approves of you now, you in particular,” he pointed to the teen with the blunt index finger on his new left hand. “What did you have to do to get in his good graces?” Maybe he could pick up some tips to make his imprisoned life easier?

Rafael was surprised Knock Out did not press him for more information about the other humans, not that he knew much more about them anyway, but he quickly let that slide. He thought back to his first encounter with Ratchet. “Well, for starters, I removed all the bugs from the computer database at Outpost Omega One. Then I hacked a few government computer terminals to keep the Decepticons from taking them over; repaired a leaking Energon fuel line; learned how operate the Groundbridge; helped save the base from a Scraplet invasion,” he paused, unconsciously rubbing at the stubble on his chin as he thought. “I guess I had to do a _lot _of things before Ratchet finally liked me. Then again, the competition for ‘Ratchet’s most-liked human child’ wasn’t very tough. Jack only cared about what Arcee thought of him, and Miko is, well…Miko,” he shrugged.

Knock Out inwardly winced at Rafael’s long list of accomplishments. It was impressive for a human, and a _child_ at that. He suddenly felt his self-esteem sinking into his fuel tank at the realization that this tiny little being had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time, and how high he’d set the bar for what it took to get on Ratchet’s good side. And then he narrowed his optics at the fact that he suddenly found himself caring what Ratchet thought of him _at all._ Thank Primus for distractions. _“Miko,”_ he scoffed, recalling the last time he’d seen the girl, “she has some sort of mental malfunction, I’m certain of it.”

“Maybe,” Rafael chuckled to that, for Jack had often said basically the same thing, when they’d all first met, “she’s alright, though. It’s funny, I would have never hung out with her or even gotten to know her if it wasn’t for the Autobots. We were going to the same school and everything. I would have never been friends with her and she probably wouldn’t have even known I existed if we hadn’t met Transformers,” he smiled then, and glanced from his laptop back to Knock Out. “Life has a weird way of pushing people together, y’know?”

Pausing in his work, Knock Out eyed Rafael suspiciously once more before shrugging his shoulders. The kid probably wasn’t aware of how true his words rang with the ex-‘Con, and it was best to keep it that way. “How old are you, again?” Knock Out asked, just to be sure.

“I’ll be sixteen next month. Why?”

“Just curious,” Knock Out muttered. He was about to say more, but the sound of a familiar gait and the footfalls of metal peds drew his and Rafael’s attention to the open door immediately. They both listened in silence for a moment before looking back to one another. “Here comes the old mech,” Knock Out said quietly, “I hope you have a good cover story ready.”

“I do,” Rafael suddenly sat up straighter as he slammed his laptop shut and looked to the doorway expectantly, smiling once the old Medic finally appeared there. “Hi, Ratchet!”

Ratchet paused in the doorway, unsure of exactly what he’d stumbled upon here as he narrowed his blue optics and glanced between Rafael and Knock Out, both of whom looked guilty of _something,_ though he could not immediately place what that _something_ was_. _He focused on the human teenager first. “Rafael. What are you doing in here?”

“I wanted to watch Knock Out make frames,” Rafael said with an innocent shrug, though he was already packing up his laptop in anticipation of Ratchet kicking him out.

“Uh-huh,” Ratchet turned his narrowed gaze onto Knock Out next, clearly looking for a better explanation.

_“What?”_ Knock Out blinked, offended by the look he was being given, or at least that was the impression he was giving. “Oh Primus, you really think I’d jeopardize my parole for a _human?” _He gave Ratchet his coldest glare before waving him off with a hand and looking back to his work. “He wants to watch, let him watch.”

Ratchet rolled his optics to that as he looked back to Rafael. He still wasn’t sure what had been going on, but he considered himself lucky to have interrupted it, whatever it was. “Spam was looking for you, he said he wanted to go for a drive.”

“Okay!” Rafael quickly shoved his laptop into his backpack and stepped onto the hand Ratchet was offering to carry him to the floor, but not before he tossed a quick wave to Knock Out. “Bye, Knock Out.” Knock Out returned the wave with the waggle of a single finger, unconsciously attempting to mimic the human’s seemingly small gesture of departure.

“And SLOW DOWN!” Ratchet yelled to Rafael after he’d been placed back on the floor and skittered out the doorway. “I’m checking Spam’s speedometer application when he gets back, and it _better_ not have recorded anything over the legal speed limit!”

Knock Out raised a brow as he watched Rafael hightail it out of the workshop. Then he locked optics with Ratchet for only a moment before casually glancing back to the frame piece as he scoffed. “Psh, _kids.”_

Ratchet held Knock Out’s gaze until the other mech looked away. “Hmm, yes…_kids,” _he repeated, and he narrowed his optics a bit as he crossed his servos and watched Knock Out work. It had been a few weeks now since Knock Out had been brought back online, and though Ratchet had been purposefully avoiding several topics of conversation with the ex-‘Con, he knew there were some that should be brought up now, rather than later. This was one of those instances for Ratchet where he missed Optimus deeply. The Prime had always been so much better than him at things like this. “*Ahem* Speaking of…children…Smokescreen stopped by while you were in stasis,” he said, gauging Knock Out’s initial response before continuing. “He came to see you.”

At the very mention of Smokescreen’s designation, Knock Out pulled his EM field in and turned his back to Ratchet, moving away from him to go search through another tool box for a tool he didn’t actually need. He couldn’t believe Ratchet had even brought the younger bot up in front of him to begin with. _How rude._ Why couldn’t the Autobots just leave things alone? “Bad timing on his part, then,” he muttered as he dug through the trays of screwdrivers and awls for nothing in particular.

Not at all surprised by the reaction he was getting from the other mech, Ratchet took it all in stride as he turned to the counter and pulled the knee joint framework closer to him for inspection. “You recall I mentioned they’ve reinstituted the Elite Guard back on Cybertron,” he said as he picked up the socket and turned it over in his hands, “Smokescreen was promoted to Captain last megacycle.” Ratchet was not yet aware Smokescreen had quit his post over a decacycle prior. But when Knock Out only shrugged his shoulders and kept his back turned, Ratchet pressed him further. “You don’t care?”

Knock Out finally turned back to Ratchet then, if only to glare at the mech. “Why _should _I?”

“He’s your _Childe_.”

“He is _not_ my Childe,” Knock Out was quick to raise a finger to that. “He was a Sparkling I donated my CNA to four million megacycles ago and _nothing_ _more.”_

Ratchet shook his head. “Yes, he was a Sparkling you donated your CNA to four million megacycles ago, but there _is _more to it than that, whether you like it or not,” he said, and when Knock Out only rolled his optics in response, Ratchet glared. He had been thinking long and hard over all of this ever since Smokescreen had come to Knock Out’s defense at his trial, and after a megacycle of contemplation while Knock Out was in stasis avoiding reality, he’d stored up quite a few things to say to the mech on the matter. “Don’t you understand how uncommon this is? How many bots left in existence can say they _have_ a Childe? Primus, after all this time and the damn war, you’re probably one of last bots alive to have Sired _any_ Sparkling!”

“So_ what!?” _Knock Out yelled, still thrown by the fact that he was being forced into this conversation at all.

“What if that’s how it was _supposed_ to be? No, hear me out,” Ratchet said when Knock Out threw his hands in the air and turned his back again, “Just_ listen_ to me for a klick! What if that’s how Sparklings were _supposed_ to be raised? With _donors?_ With other bots who _cared_ enough to raise them right? My God, that could be the _very thing_ that makes Smokescreen destined for greatness! What if _that’s_ what makes him special? He’s one of the last bots to receive CNA from anyone at all!”

“Okay, old mech,” Knock Out glanced back, giving Ratchet a look like the bot had fried his circuitry, “that’s enough speculation out of _you_ for one cycle.”

Ratchet huffed at the insinuation in Knock Out’s tone, but he kept on pressing. “He’s your _coding, _Knock Out. You don’t want _any _relationship with him? At _all_?”

_“Why!?”_ Knock Out gestured to the exit with a hand, as though Smokescreen was just on the other side. “He’s done _spectacularly_ on his own this _entire_ time! What could I _possibly_ have to offer?” he took a step towards Ratchet then as he narrowed his optics. “Should I teach him how to dissect a bot for spare parts? Because I’m _really good_ at that.”

Standing his ground at Knock Out’s words, Ratchet scowled right back. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Oh, so you mean _torturing humans_?” Knock Out said as he leaned even closer. “Because I’m _really good_ at that, too. You know, you’re right,” he feigned consideration over the matter as he brought a hand to his chin and glanced away in mock thought, “maybe I _should_ pass that along to him.”

Ratchet vented a heavy sigh as he ran a hand down his faceplates. He had expected Knock Out to be less than receptive to the idea of rekindling any sort of relationship with Smokescreen, but now that he was in the thick of it, it was mildly infuriating that the other bot refused to consider the possibility at all. “You _do_ realize that you’re throwing away the chance of a lifetime?” he finally said, once he’d managed to resist the urge to project outright anger into his EM field, which he knew would send Knock Out over the edge. “You’re throwing away a connection that the rest of us can only _dream_ of!”

“Oh, please. A _connection!?_ What connection is there, other than our CNA? I already _told _him who his Matron was! I _told_ him where he came from! I _apologized_ to him! I answered his questions!” _All except one._

“Well, he has more,” Ratchet replied. “He came here, him _and _Arcee, to see you.”

That gave Knock Out pause. “Both of them? Together?” he said, and his red optics went wide at that before he quickly looked down and away in thought. Suddenly it was all starting to make sense. He hesitated to say more, but only for a moment. Maybe the truth would get Ratchet off his case. “…He wants to know what my primary function was before the war. That cycle we were locked up in the brig across from one another, he kept _pestering_ me about it,” he shook his head then before slumping back down onto his stool and rubbing a hand over his forehelm like he’d been defeated. “…I’ll bet he went and asked Arcee after I refused to tell him. _Slag.”_

“Arcee didn’t tell him,” Ratchet confirmed, recalling the conversation he’d had with the mecha when she and Smokescreen had arrived via Spacebridge to Unit E that cycle. He felt Knock Out’s signature flare outwards again with relief. “But _you should,” _he continued, ignoring the glare Knock Out gave him then. “Primus, do you really think he’d hold that against you? You heard what he said at your trial! Of all the bots on Cybertron, he’s the one that’s judged your past the least!” he said, and then sighed when Knock Out only shook his head and looked away. “Look, an entire megacycle has passed since the war ended. An average of twenty Neutrals and two Autobots return to Cybertron on any given cycle now; bots that haven’t been back to the planet in four million megacycles; bots that probably saw your trial broadcast on CNN. Bots that, dare I say, _might have known you and what you did for a living before the war broke out,”_ Ratchet paused as Knock Out’s demeanor immediately shifted from angry to worried, and he felt little ripple of fear and anxiety pulse his way through Knock Out’s EM field. “How long do you think it will take before Smokescreen runs into one of those bots?”

Knock Out stared at the countertop in front of him. The scenario the old Medic spoke of was not an unlikely one, at all. Was Knock Out an afthole for secretly hoping most of the bots he’s serviced before the war had been deactivated since? Maybe, but he’d happily take that title if it could be true.

Ratchet narrowed his gaze once more. “You say you don’t care about Smokescreen, but you seem to care a _great deal_ about what _he_ thinks of _you._ Say what you will, but I find it _very _hard to believe you don’t give a damn about him. His impression of you _clearly_ matters to you. And don’t think I didn’t notice your reaction when Buzzsaw threatened him back on the Nemesis. You _do_ care.”

Knock Out set his elbows on the counter as he shuttered his optics. “Primus, I’m right back where I started with all of this,” he muttered as he rubbed his temples with his fingers.

“No,” Ratchet shook his head, and Knock Out blinked back up to him in question, “you’re almost an entire megacycle behind, and you need to catch up and tell Smokescreen the truth, in your _own words,_ before somebody else does it for you.”


	11. The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm not gonna be able to post this chapter on Sunday, so I thought I'd do it today!)

Cybertron had changed drastically since the war began; it had been deprived of life-giving Energon for so long during those four million megacycles. Optimus Prime had returned the AllSpark to the Well on his fateful, final cycle, and now the planet was changing again as it struggled in its new infancy. In the process of it being “reignited”, seismic events were now taking place all across the planet’s surface and below as well, and these events were just as horrific as they were amazing.

In the old Neutral Territories, wonderous spires of Energon had begun to grow straight up into the sky, the crystalline structures not unlike those that once stood in Crystal City, yet on the opposite side of the planet in the Manganese Mountains, thick metal tendrils sprouted from the rusted ground in patches and lashed out at any bot who was unlucky enough to be passing by. Cybertron’s new frontier had become both fascinating and hostile almost overnight, and in the megacycle that had passed since the war ended, many bots had lost their lives to the ongoing shifts in terrestrial forces as the planet reshaped itself.

Although Smokescreen and Strongarm had originally intended to return to New Iacon after leaving Protihex, they made a point of taking their time to get there. They took the long way around, choosing instead to roll through the old town of Petrex in Tyger Pax, and the old Crystal City in Nova Cronum. They took a harrowing drive across the old Parsec Bridge to Vos, and then finally went north once more, back towards New Iacon.

Along the way (and at her insistence), Smokescreen told Strongarm about his time with Team Prime and the many adventures he had during his brief stay with them before the war came to a close. He told her about the humans he’d met on Earth, and all about the Omega Key fiasco. He told her about the first time he’d come into contact with Knock Out, and the shocking realization that the Decepticon was, in fact, his Sire. He told her about the many cycles he’d spent by Optimus Prime’s side after the destruction of Outpost Omega One, and what it was like to have the Matrix offered to him. Strongarm hung onto his every word, giving him a kind of genuine, undivided attention he hadn’t felt since his last conversation with Arcee. Smokescreen was almost embarrassed by the gratitude that kept pouring from his signature every time Strongarm asked another question, or offered him sympathy, or laughed at whatever humor he tried to add to his story. He had not realized just how much he’d missed her.

Their first stop in New Iacon was the Well of AllSparks. They stood near its edge together, their optics scanning the words inscribed on the simple ebonite monument that had been erected at one side of the gaping hole in the planet’s surface:

”Here lies Optimus Prime,

Leader of the Autobots and defender of freedom for all sentient beings.

‘Til All Are One.”

“I wasn’t here when they put this up,” said Smokescreen with a hint of a regret in his tone. “No one told me they were gonna install it; they just put it up one cycle, with no dedication ceremony or anything.”

Strongarm, who was wiping optic wash from her faceplates despite her best efforts to not become emotional over Prime’s resting place, quickly cleared the sadness from her EM field at Smokescreen’s words. “Why? Why would the Autobots have kept that from you?”

Smokescreen shrugged a shoulder. “When Ultra Magnus and I last spoke, he told me it was because they were worried some of the Neutrals would destroy it if we made a big deal about it,” he said as he glanced around. “I dunno why. It’s up now, and it doesn’t look like anyone cares,” which was true. They were entirely alone beside the Well, even with all the bustle of the city being built less than half a mile away. From their vantage point, they could also see the remnants of the Nemesis, though almost all indicators that it had once been a ship were now covered by scaffolding and refurbished scrap metal as the vessel’s size had slowly been expanded upon over the stellarcycles to accommodate more bots. “Still,” Smokescreen turned back to her, “I would have liked to have been here for it.”

“I’ll bet Prime knows you’re here now,” Strongarm replied with a faint smile before she looked out to Well, “wherever he is. I’ll bet he can tell.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Smokescreen returned her smile, then cast his gaze over the Well also. It was a peaceful place now, despite the Final Battle having been fought around it and literally inside of it only a megacycle earlier. He hoped that Optimus _could _sense him here, somehow, for he was sure he felt the Prime’s presence there himself. He could also sense Strongarm’s signature as she stood close beside him, and he suddenly caught himself trying to read it more thoroughly. It was not something he did very often, to any bot, mainly because there had simply been no time during the war to really get to know anyone on _that_ level. He’d been too busy; their entire world had been at stake. But with no war, and now no Elite Guard duties, Smokescreen had nothing _but_ time.

“Should we go check out the city?” Strongarm’s voice broke Smokescreen’s concentration, and he was surprised that she did not comment on his signature attempting to mingle deeper with her own. She turned to look toward the building frames in the distance. “I didn’t really get a chance to go through it before I drove out to see you.”

Smokescreen quickly followed her gaze as he swept his EM field back. “Uh, sure! You lead the way,” he said as he dropped into his vehicle mode and waited for Strongarm to follow suit. Even though her SUV altmode was larger than Smokescreen’s racecar form, they were still able to drive side-by-side as they made their way down the worn highway. Within a few klicks, they were coming up on the newly-erected metal walls that would soon surround the city.

“I can pick up on the Public Feed now that we’re within range,” Strongarm’s voice chimed into Smokescreen’s internal comm. She tapped into the city’s frequency and skimmed through the open channels. It was mostly full of basic news of the city’s progress, though she noted several bulletins that had been posted by the Neutrals. Some of the data clips were of Metalhawk urging a peaceful transition into a post-war life on Cybertron, but there were many other faces of bots that Strongarm did not recognize, and they were all yelling at the camera about inequality, about the Autobots being as horrible as the Decepticons, about refusing to let the Autobots run the planet when it rightfully belonged to the Neutrals, who were claiming to be innocent of all the damage the war had caused. There was also a list of locations around the city that were marked as future sites for protests. Strongarm didn’t like the look of _any_ of it.

“Smokey, are you getting any of this?” Strongarm slowed her roll and was tempted to pull off to the side so that she could give more of her attention to the feed. She was about to say more when she realized Smokescreen was no longer beside her, and she heard the sound of his transformation sequence several meters back. Coming to a full stop, she adjusted her rearview mirrors to glance backward, finally spotting Smokescreen as he walked back toward the walls. She put herself in reverse, driving all the way back and waiting until she was beside him to transform as well. It was then that she finally realized what Smokescreen was staring at, and the reason he had not responded to her.

Giant colorful murals had been painted all along the inside of the perimeter walls. Some of them were depictions of the Great War: deactivated frames scattered across a rusted battlefield, Cybertron depicted as a black, lifeless planet in a dying galaxy. Some were merely lists of designations, thousands and thousands of them, a tribute to those lost. Some of them had been put up and then had graffiti painted over them already. Nearly all of them were headlined with propaganda or quotes spoken by bots long ago, only now they were being used to prop up the Neutral’s stance on the current political climate of post-war Cybertron. Some of the quotes attempted to send a positive message, though those were few and far between: “Under conditions of peace, the war-like attack themselves”; “Death to all Autobots”; “Only Primus can bring peace”; “We are all victims of the Great War. We need to forgive each other”; “When inequality becomes law, resistance becomes duty.”

But Smokescreen was fixated on only one of the murals, a massive painting of a face. One half was Optimus Prime, the other was Megatron. Their protoflesh was painted to look as though it had been liquified and was running off their faceplates, revealing their metal skulls underneath, their narrowed optics in a zombie-like stare, their teeth bared in a grimace. A pair of hands, one Megatron’s and one Optimus’s, were held close together and cradling hundreds of dead or dying bots. The words “Mechs cannot be freed by the same injustice that enslaved them” were stenciled above it all, at the very top of the wall. Smokescreen gaped at the mural, the doors on his back slowly wilting, giving away his utter disbelief at what he was seeing.

Strongarm too stood in shock for a moment, though she took in the scene more fully. Nearly every panel of the wall, for as many meters as it had been built thus far, had some form of graffiti or art covering it. The wall stretched out in both directions on either side of the road they had come in on, the road that lead to the Well of AllSparks. Now she suddenly understood why Prime’s memorial had been left untouched; the Neutrals had simply chosen to desecrate the gateway to it instead.

“Is _this_ what they think?” Smokescreen said softly before finally turning to Strongarm, his optics wide with disbelief. “Is this _really_ what they think of Optimus!?”

Sorry that she could not come up with a better explanation for all of it, Strongarm was just as stunned, though more so of the fact that the Autobots had apparently _allowed_ this to happen. Why was no one out here painting over all of this? “I…I guess so?” Now she looked back towards New Iacon with a slight sense of foreboding. “Maybe we shouldn’t go into town,” she said, not bothering to hide her wariness from her EM field, but the rage that she felt suddenly pouring from Smokescreen’s signature beside her quickly drowned hers out.

“No, I think maybe we _should _go!” Smokescreen was about to stomp back towards the road, to transform and speed into town and do what, exactly, he was not sure, but Strongarm suddenly had him by her namesake as she grabbed him with a hand and literally strong-armed him back towards her.

“Wait! Smokey, wait,” she said as she quickly grabbed him by his other servo and forced him to lock optics with hers. “We should check in with Autobot Headquarters first, no one knows where we are right now.” She wasn’t about to go into the city without potential backup, let alone to allow Smokescreen to go rampaging through the streets doing Primus-knows-what to the Neutrals. She hadn’t felt anger like that from him since they were young bots, and it surprised her how quickly he lost all sense of rationality so quickly. She knew she had to stop him. “We should at least let HQ know we’re back in New Iacon, it’s probably safer for us if we do.”

Smokescreen glared back at her for only a nano-klick before he realized how ridiculous he was being in letting his emotions get the better of him. Hadn’t he been the one asking the Neutrals and Autobots to set aside their differences and work together not so long ago? Hadn’t he been the one asking for understanding and a little bit of compassion between all factions at Knock Out’s trial? What good would it really do _anyone _if he went charging into town in a fit of rage over a few paintings? He blinked back at Strongarm, then heaved a sigh and nodded as he looked to her hands on his servos. “You’re right…you’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s go to the ship first. Maybe someone there can explain what all of this means,” he said as he flicked his gaze to the walls once more, though he found he could not look at them for long without becoming angry again.

It had been many stellarcycles since Smokescreen had been onboard the Nemesis, or what was left of it, but he found that he liked all of the changes that had been made to the ship’s interior. With the redesign and change in lighting, there was barely a hint that the vessel’s previous owners were the Decepticons; not seeing a single insignia other than the Autobot badge helped.

The pair had no trouble clearing Security to get onboard, and for the first time in a while Smokescreen felt some semblance of “home” as he walked the halls and returned the greetings of several Autobots he’d come to know before departing for the Elite Guard Unit in Protihex. The only member of Team Prime that he came across, however, was Ultra Magnus.

The great red, white, and blue mech stood at the console in the center of the Bridge, his attention on one of the many monitors that displayed all of New Iacon’s relevant data. Ultra Magnus let his proximity alarms flash on his HUD for only a nano-klick before turning around to watch the two young bots step forward, and he returned their salutes immediately. No military bearing had been lost by Ultra Magnus, despite the war being over.

“Smokescreen, Strongarm,” he gave each a nod as he dropped his hand back to his side. “I was hoping you’d return here. I saw on the latest personnel report that you decided not to reenlist with the Guard,” he said, eyeing Strongarm critically, and he felt her signature shrinking away from his with a bit of fear that he knew to be born of respect. “And _you,_ Smokescreen,” now he crossed his servos in front of him, causing his towering shoulders to shift and cast shadows over both bots, “I saw that you quit your post. Care to explain?”

“Yes, Sir,” Smokescreen could feel Strongarm’s apprehension beside him, but she didn’t know Ultra Magnus the way he did. Yes, the bot was intimidating, but he wasn’t cruel, and Smokescreen knew the mech wouldn’t yell at them or belittle them for their decision. “We don’t want to work for the Guard anymore, Sir, we want to work _here,_ in New Iacon, to help rebuild the city.”

“In what capacity?”

“Well, uhh…” Smokescreen blinked to that. Okay, so he hadn’t gotten that far along in their plans yet. He gave Strongarm a quick glance before shrugging back to Ultra Magnus. “We were…kinda hoping you or someone else might have something in mind? As long as it’s _not_ behind a desk, Sir. Primus, _please_ don’t make me sit behind a desk!”

“We wanna be out on the streets, Sir,” Strongarm finally found her voice again as she peered up at Ultra Magnus. “Y’know…helping actual Cybertronians.”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen nodded, then lifted a brow as a security alert pulsed on the screen behind Ultra Magnus that displayed a map of the city. Smokescreen recognized the symbol and alert code being used almost immediately. The larger mech turned to glance at it as well before he tapped a few buttons on the console. “You have a Civil Militia again, Sir?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ultra Magnus said as he tapped a few buttons on the display. “Ironhide is currently running the operation.”

“The Civil Militia?” said Strongarm as she raised a brow to Smokescreen, then blinked to the map on the screen. “You mean like policing? Yes! _Yes!_ We can do that! _I _can do that! I know _all_ the laws!” she exclaimed, then quickly shrank away from the monitors when Ultra Magnus turned to loom over again. “Er…all the old pre-war laws, at least.”

Ultra Magnus shifted his gaze back and forth between the pair, clearly still disapproving of the choice they’d made to leave the Guard. But he was no longer in a position to order them around the way he used to be. Now that the war was over, both Autobots and Neutrals were being encouraged to start new lives in any field of their choosing. The freedom to choose one’s function was the new Cybertronian way, it was what they had been fighting for to begin with. As concerned as he was about Smokescreen’s wellbeing, Ultra Magnus was not going to deny him, or Strongarm, the right to do the same.

“That’s what we’ll do, then,” Smokescreen smiled to Strongarm. “All our training with the Elite Guard should carry over, no problem!” then he glanced back to Ultra Magnus. “But umm, with all due respect, Sir, Ironhide’s not doing a very good job out there. Have you seen the graffiti on the southern wall?”

“You mean the murals,” Ultra Magnus almost rolled his optics, and his distaste for the artwork could be heard through his vocalizer. “We tried painting over them every time a new one appeared, but we couldn’t keep up with it. It’s not that Ironhide isn’t doing a good job, he simply doesn’t have the resources right now. Besides that,” he sighed, “studies have shown that when members of a society get unruly and disagreeable with the presiding government, it’s generally best to give them an outlet for peaceful forms of protest.”

Smokescreen blinked to that, finding it hard to believe that Ultra Magnus, of all the law-abiding bots, would still allow such horrific creations to exist. “Okay, but have you _seen_ them? They’re making Optimus out to be a _murderer!”_

“Those murals represent something far more important than an outlet for peaceful protest,” suddenly Metalhawk’s voice drifted in from behind them. Strongarm and Smokescreen quickly turned around to watch as the yellow and red mech strode towards them, up the ramp and onto the Bridge, his wing stabilizers jutting out from his servos and taking up more space on either side of him than the entire length of his actual frame. Despite the awkwardly-placed configuration of his armor, he was still able to cross his arms as he came to stand before the two younger bots and Ultra Magnus, though his gaze held steady on Smokescreen alone. “Would you like to guess what it is?” he asked, and when Smokescreen gave a shrug and then wary glance to Strongarm, who could only shrug in return, he continued. “They represent our rights to freedom of speech, self-expression, and social activism.”

Strongarm didn’t hesitate for even a moment before narrowing her optics and challenging Metalhawk’s words. “Rights or not, those murals are vandalism and destruction of private property. Cybertronian Municipal Legislation Section 10-117 _clearly_ states ‘No bot shall write, paint, or draw any inscription, figure, or mark of any type on any private building, structure, or other—‘”

“The walls are not privately owned property,” Metalhawk calmly stated, interrupting her as he raised a hand. “They are a publicly-funded endeavor, built and maintained by the public that call New Iacon ‘home’. Most of the bots that are building the wall are Neutrals, and _some_ of those Neutrals are the very same bots that paint them. Isn’t that right, Ultra Magnus?” he said as he finally shifted his blue gaze up to the Autobot Commander.

Ultra Magnus glanced from Metalhawk over to Smokescreen, who was giving him a look like he wasn’t sure the unofficial leader of the Neutrals ought to be there on the Bridge at all. He did not have time to give the young mech a lesson on the finer points of post-war politics, however. “Yes, it is,” he finally replied, though his tone suggested he was not happy about it.

“Yes, it is,” Metalhawk repeated, giving a faint smile back to Strongarm then, “and as such, the wall is owned by the _public,_ and if the _public_ chooses to paint the walls, that is within their rights.”

“Well the paintings need to go,” Smokescreen narrowed his optics a bit as he turned to face Metalhawk once more, and he could feel that anger rising inside him again. “I don’t care that the Neutrals refused to take sides, Optimus _saved them too_ when he sacrificed himself to the Well. They owe him their lives, and this is the thanks they’re giving? It’s not right.”

Metalhawk smiled to Smokescreen the way one would a Childe, with kindness, but also a bit of pity for their ignorance. “I believe _both_ Megatron and Optimus Prime were, in the beginning, advocates for the rights to freedom of speech, self-expression, and social activism for all mech and mecha. They were both considered pioneers of social activism, and both factions utilized murals and other forms of media to reach the general public about their causes. The Functionists, on the other hand, arrested, imprisoned and even _killed_ bots who dared speak their mind in such a manner, let alone express opinions that differed from the ruling government at the time. Are you a _Functionist_ now, Smokescreen?”

Smokescreen did not understand what Metalhawk was doing in Autobot Headquarters, let alone why he had access to the Bridge, or why Ultra Magnus wasn’t doing or saying _anything_ to make him to leave. This was the _Autobot_ Command Center, wasn’t it? The Neutral insinuating he was a Functionist, though, that just about sent him over the edge. He felt his doorwings hike up high on his back, betraying his growing anger, but he didn’t care. “No! Of _course_ I’m not! I just think what they’re doing is disrespectful!”

“It’s disrespectful that some bots have an opinion of Optimus Prime that differs from yours?” Metalhawk said as he raised a brow. “So, again, are you a Functionist?”

“_No!_” Smokescreen could not help but raise his voice. “That’s not what I’m saying at _all!_ Of _course_ they’re entitled to their opinions, but—"

“Didn’t I just hear you say as I was walking in,” Metalhawk said as he gestured to the entrance to the Bridge, “that you wished to help the city by working for the local Civil Militia? That you want to police New Iacon’s citizens? Aren’t officers of the law supposed to be fair and impartial when making law enforcement decisions? How do you think you can help when you refuse to see things from all sides?” Metalhawk narrowed his optics now as well, but it was more in a curious manner than anger as he stared at Smokescreen. “What happened to the mech that stood up for his Decepticon Sire a megacycle ago and spoke of reconciliation and putting aside differences for the greater good of our planet? Do those ideals leave you so quickly when you see a few paintings that contradict your beliefs?”

Not liking the way Metalhawk seemed to be staring into his very spark, Smokescreen shifted uncomfortably, his anger slowly dissipating at the mention of everything he’d said at Knock Out’s trial. He didn’t like the way Metalhawk seemed to be using all of that against him, and the way he seemed to twist his words, but he had resolved long ago that he would always stand by what he’d said that cycle, so he wasn’t going to deny it now. “No, I still hold those ideals, and I _always_ will. I just don’t understand where the Neutrals are coming from. I don’t understand why some bots would feel that way about Optimus Prime when he’s the one who saved our _entire world.”_

“Do you _want_ to understand?” Metalhawk asked, his gaze still unwavering.

Smokescreen could feel a sudden, unexpected tension in the air that was not from their collective EM fields already bouncing off one another in anger. He could feel the pressure of Ultra Magnus’s signature hovering over him from behind, and the worry-filled signature of Strongarm on his right. For some reason, he had a sudden feeling that whatever his answer to Metalhawk’s question would be, it was going to have life-changing ramifications. It reminded him of the time Optimus offered him the Matrix, that same sense of great importance for that one moment in time, as though he were being offered two separate paths by destiny. It took him only a few nano-klicks to decide.

_“Yes.”_

Metalhawk gave him a genuine smile. “Good. Meet me by the south wall at eighteen hundred this evening, then,” he said before he turned and strolled back down the ramp towards the exit. He paused to glance over his shoulder once he reached the archway, and gestured to Strongarm with a hand. “Bring your friend, if she cares enough to know as well.”

Ultra Magnus waited until he was certain Metalhawk was well out of audial range before he frowned and looked back down to the two younger bots before him. He had let Metalhawk come onto the Bridge and have his say only because that was part of the current and _very _delicate peace agreement between the Autobots and Neutrals, that the Neutral’s de facto leader be given the right to stand alongside Autobot Command and, at the very least, give input and opinions as to how the planet should be run. The agreement, as of late, had not been going well. Ultra Magnus sighed. “Smokescreen, Strongarm, you know you’re under no obligation to—"

“We’ll go, Sir,” Smokescreen said quickly, though he did glance to Strongarm then, to verify that she too wanted to meet up with Metalhawk later, and she gave him a solid nod. “Maybe Metalhawk’s right. Maybe if we try looking at things from the Neutral standpoint…” he let that trail off as he shrugged, but Ultra Magnus only harrumphed in response before turning back to the data monitors.

Strongarm took a cautious step back from the Commander while simultaneously snagging Smokescreen by a servo. “Let’s go find Ironhide,” she almost whispered, and the pair quickly walked back down the ramp and left the Bridge.

Ultra Magnus kept his wide back to the two, fully aware that they were slinking off behind him, though he did nothing to stop them. He tapped a few more buttons on the console, his jaw set as he pulled up another grid of New Iacon on the screens. From the corner of his right optic, he suddenly spotted Prowl as the mech casually walked out from the side office, his attention on the data pad he carried in one hand. Ultra Magnus was quite certain Prowl had been privy to the entire conversation that had just taken place on the Bridge. He watched Prowl slowly cross the platform below the Command Center before he called out to him.

“I assume you heard all of that. Perhaps we should—"

“Don’t worry about it,” Prowl interrupted as he waved Ultra Magnus off with a hand, not even bothering to look up from his data pad. “As usual, I’m fifty steps ahead of you.”


	12. The Second Lesson

The following week when Rafael returned to the Autobot base, he found Knock Out in the workshop again. As he greeted the ex-‘Con, he noted that this time the mech was laboring over a U-shaped piece of metal that Rafael eventually came to realize was the lower half of a jaw. He wondered, as he watched Knock Out for a moment, what poor bot was running around Cybertron with a piece of their face missing, and furthermore, how it had come to be missing to begin with. But instead of speculating on all the horrific possibilities there, Rafael found a place to sit that was well out of the way of Knock Out’s work, and tried to pick up the conversation where they’d left off.

“So…the last time I was here, we were talking about designations,” he said as he pulled his laptop from his backpack and set it up in front of him on the counter. “On Earth, our parents give us _our_ designations, our _names,_ when we’re born. But you guys aren’t really _born,_ right?”

Knock Out had given Rafael a silent nod in greeting once the kid made his way up onto the counter. He was surprised the human was back so soon, for he did not think their previous, brief conversation had been that interesting. Yet here he was, back for more, and conveniently when Ratchet was not in the building, though Knock Out knew First Aid was around somewhere.

The question of how Transformers were “born”, or came to be, rather, instantly brought Smokescreen to mind. Knock Out had in fact sent the younger mech an external message as Ratchet suggested. It had been three Earth cycles since Ratchet sent it on his behalf, and there had still not been a reply from Cybertron. Knock Out had agonized over the message for hours, wondering what in the Pit he was supposed to say, how he was supposed to say it, and in so doing, realized that his written words could be construed or misinterpreted in a hundred different ways. Because of that, he decided that perhaps the things that ultimately needed to be said were best done in person. It would most likely be more difficult, but he was more afraid of written or telecom messages between them being intercepted by any number of bots along the way. Therefore, in the end, he went with something simple:

_“I’m back online. Stop by if you’re still looking for answers.” _

_ -KO_

Originally, he’d written _“Hope you’re doing well”_ at the end, but then thought it sounded like a pathetic attempt to sound cordial after all the crap that had happened between them, so he quickly deleted it from the message before handing it over to Ratchet. Whether the older mech had read the message before sending it off into the ether, he was not sure, and he didn’t ask. At any rate, the three Earth cycles of radio silence from Cybetron had been killing him. He was, on the one hand, thankful for it, but on the other, he now worried that Smokescreen would come walking through the Spacebridge at any moment, and it was beginning to put him on edge. So it was that despite Rafael’s choice of topic, he was thankful for the distraction from his own mind ruminating over the possibility of Smokescreen’s arrival.

“Ratchet never told you how Transformers are created?” Knock Out asked as he eyed Rafael a moment before turning back to the piece he was working on.

“I mean, he told me the basics, I guess?” Rafael shrugged, and when Knock Out asked him to repeat what Ratchet had said back to him, he shrugged again. “He said that all Sparks come from the Well. He said sometimes the Well shoots the Sparks out into the atmosphere, and they go _really far_, and land like halfway around Cybertron, and sometimes even farther, like entire planets away. ‘Bee said that’s what happened when Optimus became one with the AllSpark, right? A bunch of Sparks shot out of the Well again, so that new Transformers could be created.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Rafael nodded. “And wherever the Sparks land on whichever planet, that’s where they’ll grow. But Ratchet also said that sometimes the Sparks never leave the Well at all, and they grow on the inside of it instead. He said that regardless of where the Spark grows, it stays there for about forty Earth years. He said that while a Spark is growing and you guys are, like, _becoming you,_ you’re downloading basic survival skills from the planet itself, and that’s when your protoform gets created. And then once you become conscious, that’s when you’re called a Sparkling. The initial programming you received from Primus is supposed to make you seek out other Transformers, and then you get taken to bots called ‘Caretakers’, and they watch over you and teach you about Cybertron until you decide what function you want. And by then you know what your alt-mode will be, and you get your first armor, and then you start your schooling.”

“See?” Knock Out waved him off with his free hand while the other set a rivet in place on the metal jaw. “You already know how it all works; you don’t need _me_ to tell you.”

“I know how it’s _supposed _to work,” Rafael countered. “What I wanna know is what the Functionists did to screw all that up.”

“What has Ratchet told you about the Functionists, then?”

“Nothing,” Rafael shook his head, “other than that they were bad. Bad for Cybertron. Bad for your society.”

Knock Out nodded in silent agreement to that, and considered his words carefully before replying. The kid wanted the truth, he would tell him the truth, or at least his own understanding of it. “The Functionists came into power during the Age of Wrath. They created a classification database for every alt-mode, known as the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy, or GCT. Every Transformer was sorted into a classification based on their function, and when their function was unclear, or ambiguous, they would sample a Sparkling’s CNA to assist in determining it. Over time, the Functionists began to rely more heavily on the CNA testing, and eventually they started to sample CNA straight from the Spark itself while it were still growing in the ground rather than allowing the Sparkling to hatch and make its way to the population on its own,” Knock Out continued as he worked. “Any Spark the Functionists were able to locate had its CNA sampled and ran against the GCT in order to predetermine what that bot’s function would be for the rest of its life. Then they uprooted the Spark, shipped it off to whatever school or academy or training center they were ‘destined’ for based on its CNA results, and that was that. Your CNA or form dictated your function, and your function dictated your fate. No more freedom, no more choices. The moment you came online for the first time, you were told what your function was, and that’s what you became.”

“Wow,” Rafael blinked to that, raising a brow as he looked up from his laptop, “that’s pretty fucked up.”

“Mm,” Knock Out made a noise suggesting he fully agreed with that as he continued to push rivets through the pre-drilled holes in the jaw frame. “But I digress. You asked where our designations come from. Before the Functionists came into power, a Sparkling generally knew it’s designation by the time it was found by the local population and handed over to the Caretakers. Some believe Primus gives a Sparkling its designation while it’s still in the ground and downloading information from the planet. But for many bots that were Sparked during the Age of Wrath and well into the Golden Age, their designation was assigned to them by the Caretakers and Scholars that ran the academies and training centers. The Caretakers and Scholars were all Functionist sympathizers back then. Even the Senate was overrun by them, eventually,” Knock Out frowned as he turned to move away from the counter to dig a rivet gun out of a drawer. He had a very clear memory of the cycle he was assigned _his_ current designation by his trainers, but whatever his _real_ designation had been, the one he’d been created with, he had forgotten it long ago.

“There used to be a saying on Cybertron,” he continued, once he finally freed himself from that moment of introspection and moved back towards the counter, “’All the good designations are taken’.” That comes from the time when the Functionists started to get a little less…_creative_ with designations, and began to assign bots alpha-numeric codes, especially with bots in the less-desirable functions, like Megatron, for example.”

“Megatron wasn’t always ‘Megatron’?”

“No,” Knock Out shook his head. Were Megatron still a solid fixture in his life, he might have been more wary of giving a human such information, but he figured he had nothing to lose now. Never mind that what he was about to say was well-known by all Transformers, regardless of their faction. “His real designation was ‘D-16’.”

Rafael pondered that a moment before looking back up to Knock Out. “Megatron was miner, in Kaon. Optimus told me.”

“That’s true,” Knock Out said with a nod, surprised to hear that the Prime would tell any human that. “All Miners were Low caste, so it was fairly common that they were given simplistic designations, regardless of what Age they were Sparked in.”

“What can you tell me about the caste system?” Rafael asked, almost a little too excitedly, for of the few things the Autobots refused to go into further detail about with him, Cybertron’s former caste system was near the top of the list. Lucky for him, Knock Out seemed to have zero reservations about explaining it.

“You know what a caste system is?” Knock Out asked first as he began using the gun on each rivet he had placed in the jaw frame, and when he saw Rafael nod, he continued. “Alright, then. On our planet, each caste was managed by the Guilds of Cybertron, _all_ of whom were _also_ Functionists, I might add. You were assigned your function, and each function fell under one of three castes: High, Middle, and Low. The High caste consisted of bots with functions relating to the arts, sciences, and government. The Middle caste was engineers, data collectors, and programmers. The Low caste was made up of servants and service and industrial workers. Later on, once war preparations were being made, military ranks were added to each caste. Soldiers were Low, Non-Commissioned Officers were Middle, and Officers and Warriors were High,” Knock Out paused there, to make sure Rafael was still following him, which the human clearly was. “What you also need to know, if you want to understand Cybertron’s caste system, is that upward mobility was almost impossible. It was _very_ hard to move from one function and caste to another. Also important to know is that within each caste was a series of classes: Elite, Upper, Middle, Lower,” he said, lifting a hand and moving it down a space in the air with each word. “You know Megatron was a miner. A miner was considered a higher, _better_ function than say, a street sweeper or rubbish collector. So, Megatron was Low caste but not really Low _class._ He was _close_ to Middle class, more like in-between the two. Mining was difficult work, but they were paid more than a street sweep. Understand?”

“Yes,” Rafael said with a nod, piecing together everything Knock Out had said before asking another question. “Who were the High caste Elite class, then? That was the highest you could go, right?”

Knock Out nodded as he set the rivet gun aside, then turned the jaw frame over so that it was upside down on the counter. “Government officials. Senators and those that sat on the High Council.”

“I see. What were Medics?”

“High caste, Upper or Elite class, depending on their reputation and scientific contributions to the medical field,” Knock Out grabbed a rasp from the small collection of tools he had on the counter and began to file down the rivet points. “You’re wondering about Ratchet, I assume? He was definitely High caste, and if I had to guess, Elite class. He’s quite smart, for all his other misgivings,” he muttered.

Rafael watched Knock Out work, though he eyed the mech’s face to try and gauge his reaction when he spoke again. “What were _you_ considered, since you never graduated from the Iacon Medical Academy? Would that have changed your class?”

Knock Out’s optics narrowed a bit, the sound of the metal file grating against the rivets filling the room as he remained silent. Did it really matter if Rafael knew which caste the Functionists had put him into four million megacycles ago? No, he eventually decided, it didn’t. “…I wasn’t sparked as a Medic to begin with,” he finally said, though he didn’t look at Rafael as he said it. “I was Low caste. I was trying to get out of it by attending the IMA, but then the war broke out, and everything…changed. Like I said, changing your function was difficult enough as it was, and the incoming war made that even worse.”

Rafael was about to ask Knock Out what his original function had been, but then he suddenly thought better of it. Instead, he brought up what he viewed as a benefit to their war. “But now that the war’s over, there’s no more caste system, right?”

“Well,” Knock Out said with just a touch of doubt in his voice, and he even rolled his optics, “that’s what they _say._ I suppose it was really all dissolved once the war started; no one had the time to collect CNA samples from Sparks anymore, and the Well had stopped producing them by then. Almost every bot that was created after that was Cold Constructed for war-time purposes anyway, so the caste system became moot, thank Primus. But who knows what they’ll all do now that the war is over? History has a way of repeating itself.” If all he’d heard of the Neutrals being unsupportive of the Autobots was true, he could just see them all defaulting right back to the old ways, right back to one faction trying to control the other with laws and governance that would then be opposed. And then there would have to be enforcement of those laws, and that’s where it would get ugly, _all over again. _For perhaps the third of fourth time that stellarcycle, Knock Out was again thankful to still be on Earth, even as a prisoner, to be away from all of that social and political ridiculousness. He was by now certain that if he were free, one way or another, he would not survive it.

“So, what’s up with the whole _lack of female Transformers_ thing?” Miko’s voice broke the silence and caused Knock Out to whip his head around and down to where the girl stood, right at the base of his ped, as though she had no worry of him accidentally stomping on her. Likewise, Rafael startled so badly that his laptop fell from his lap and clattered onto the counter as he grabbed a hand at his chest, certain that his heart skipped a beat when he heard Miko’s voice. She had always been good at sneaking up on others, human, Transformer, or otherwise.

_“Jesus,_ Miko!” Rafael yelled as he leaned over the side of the counter to glare down at her. “You could have _told_ us you were there!”

“Hey, it’s not _my _fault you have poor situational awareness, bro,” Miko shrugged as she smirked up to Rafael, then canted her head back as she eyed Knock Out way above her. “Is this the Transformers History class? Sorry I’m late, Teach’!”

Knock Out narrowed his optics down at the tiny human female. He noted that like Rafael, she too had some upgrades. She was not any taller, though now that he got a good look at her, he could detect subtle changes in her frame and features. She was still dressed in garments that Knock Out assumed were meant to make her stand out in a crowd, and she had changed the palette of her hair yet again. This time it was bleached to an off-white color, though Knock Out could see dark streaks of black closer to her scalp. At the moment, she had it parted down the middle and rolled into two buns on either side of her head. An odd choice for any human, Knock Out thought, but he refrained from commenting on it. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was forced to snap it shut and freeze in place as Miko suddenly grabbed hold of his ped and started to _climb_ him, as though this was totally acceptable behavior. Cringing at the feeling of tiny little human hands groping him all over, he resisted the urge to swat Miko away like a pest, and let himself be subjected to her using his frame like a rockface. When she was finally off of him and had hopped down onto the counter, she set her hands on her hips and grinned up to him.

“Anyway, go on.”

Knock Out glanced from Miko to Rafael and back, then rolled his optics as he turned back to his work. He was not sure how much Miko had already heard, but it was probably too much. “Lesson’s over.”

“Aw, c’moooon!” Miko whined, “This is interesting stuff!” She then stepped over to Rafael and punched him in the arm, her eyes suddenly narrowed. “And _you_ haven’t returned my text messages in _ages!_ Why do I have come _here _to see you?”

Rafael flinched at the incoming jab, even though he was bigger than Miko now. “Ow! I’ve been busy with school!” he muttered, and finally collected his laptop off the counter where it had fallen.

“That’s been your excuse for the past four years,” said Miko. “You need to come hang out with me and Jack sometime.”

_“You_ hang out with Jack?” Rafael blinked to that, wondering if what that _really_ meant was that Jack _allowed_ Miko to hang out with _him._

“Yeah, on the weekends, mostly. Not _every_ weekend, but a few.”

Rafael watched as Knock Out rolled his optics for the second time in as many minutes and moved away from the counter to search through the materials stacked on shelves on the opposite side of the room. Rafael felt suddenly responsible and guilty for Miko having interrupted their somewhat private conversation, but he was equally curious about the apparent meet-ups his two old friends were having, and he found he couldn’t help but ask about them. “Whadda you guys do?”

“Just talk about shit, mostly. Soooo,” Miko took a moment to glance around the workshop; she had not been back to Unit E in several months, “is this where you’ve been this whole time?”

“No, not the _whole_ time.”

“And what are you doing in here?”

Rafael hesitated, eyeing Knock Out’s back across the room and getting no help from the ex-‘Con in offering Miko any explanation. “Just…y’know…watching Knock Out work.”

“And _talking about stuff?”_ Miko smirked again as she casually walked around Rafael to stand behind him so that she could pull the tie out of his hair and begin to play with his locks like he was sitting at a salon.

“What, I’m allowed to _talk_ to him while I watch him work, aren’t I?” Rafael asked, rolling his eyes as she played with his hair. He was unaware that she was attempting to style it in the same fashion as her own.

“Uh-huh,” Miko said, eyeing Knock Out now and raising her voice a bit. _“I_ heard you asking about the Functionists and the caste system. Isn’t that the stuff that the Autobots would neeeever ever talk to us about?”

“Ohhh,” Rafael sounded a little too innocent in his reply. “Is it?”

Miko used her grip on Rafael’s hair to pull his head back, gently, and glare at him. “Don’t play stupid with me, I’m older than you.”

“Psh, but not smarter,” Knock Out scoffed in Cybertronian as he returned to the counter with a few pieces of metal in hand, knowing that only Rafael would be able to understand him.

“Oh, you wanna play _that_ game? You think I dunno you’re talking shit about me?” Miko raised both brows to Knock Out as he returned, then she switched to Japanese as she spoke. _“I_ can say shitty things about _you_ in a language _you_ don’t understand, too!”

Knock Out hadn’t understood a word she said, it was true, and he scowled at her for a moment before going back to his work, reminding himself that it was against the rules to physically harm the humans.

“He’s telling you all the cool stuff, isn’t he?” Miko asked, switching back to English as she glanced back down to Rafael. “He’s telling you all the heavy shit Optimus said he’d tell us ‘in due time’, and that First Aid is too embarrassed to talk about, and that Bulkhead said he’d tell me when we got older. But now Optimus is _dead _and First Aid is _still_ embarrassed and Bulkhead is _gone _and who knows when he’ll be back…,” she let that statement trail off, sorrow creeping into her tone. She bit the inside of her lip, silent as she continued to play with Rafael’s hair until she managed to shake off those feelings of sadness and narrowed her eyes back to Knock Out. “I want in on this.”

“No,” Knock Out said without bothering to look her way.

“Oh, come ON! _I_ have questions too, y’know! I have a_ lot_ of questions! Why does Raf get to ask you stuff and I don’t!?”

Rafael slowly turned his gaze up to Knock Out, looking slightly guilty.

“I won’t tell a _soul!_ I can _keep_ secrets! I _can!_ I know it seems like I talk a lot, but I _can _keep secrets! Just ask Raf, he knows!”

“She can, it’s true,” said Rafael, once Knock Out finally glanced back to them both with a skeptical look.

“You really trust her?” Knock Out asked Rafael, in Cybertronian again, and he did not care how rude it was to do so when Miko couldn’t understand, because that was the entire point.

“With my _life,_” Rafael replied.

Knock Out shifted his gaze to Miko, staring at her and surprised to see she wasn’t her usual defiant self, but looking rather worried all of a sudden, like his refusal might actually really hurt her feelings. He did not think he’d seen Miko that way, ever, not even when he’d held her captive in a glass container along with the other children. She had always been angry or loud or exceptionally extroverted in some way regardless of the situation. Now, she looked almost desperate. Even so, Knock Out was not sure he trusted her. But Rafael did, and he did trust _him,_ a little. He wondered how much of that trust came from everything he had experienced and felt the cycle he had shared memories of the human with Bumblebee. Still, perhaps there was an opportunity here that he shouldn’t pass up.

“What’s in it for me?” he asked Miko, still eyeing her.

“What’s _Raf_ doing for you?” Miko countered.

“That’s between me and him.”

Miko glanced down to Rafael at that, but he looked down to his laptop and said nothing. _Interesting._ She made a mental note of his reaction to bother him about it later, then thought carefully about her answer. “…I can bring you stuff.”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?” Like this human had anything he wanted.

“Energon goodies,” the usual smile finally returned to Miko’s face when she saw Knock Out’s surprise to that, “all different kinds. I know where Bulkhead hid his secret stash, and it’s all still here, on this _very base._ He forgot it when he went back to Cybertron.”

Waving her off with a hand, Knock Out turned to pick up his data pad. “I can’t take those; it would be stealing. I’d get into trouble with Ratchet.”

_“You_ wouldn’t be stealing it, _I_ would. Plus, it isn’t even _really_ stealing because Bulkhead always told me that whatever he had, he would share with me, because we’re Wreckers, and Wreckers look out for each other,” Miko said proudly.

Knock Out’s laugh was so loud and quick that both Rafael and Miko startled for a moment. “HAH! _Sure,_ Wreckers look out for each other! That’s _adorable._ But fine, if you can produce one of these supposed secret snacks _right now,” _he tapped a finger on the counter, “as proof you’re being honest, then fine, you’re in.”

Hearing those words, Miko instantly ran for the edge of the counter and climbed down, leaving Rafael’s hair a mess. Knock Out watched her race across the floor and disappear through the exit, though before he could turn away, she was back.

“Pink or green?” she asked.

_“Pink!”_ Knock Out said without pause, as though there was only one obvious choice to such a question. He watched her zip away again before eyeing Rafael once more. “Can she _really _keep her mouth shut?”

“On things that are important, yes, amazingly enough,” Rafael said as he combed his fingers through his hair and put it back into a ponytail.

Knock Out made a noise like he was still not sure what to believe and turned back to his data pad. Miko was gone a full five minutes before she reappeared in the doorway, pulling a pallet jack behind her upon which lay a single pink Energon stick. It was larger than her, and twice her weight, and she certainly would not have been able to carry it by herself.

“Ta-da!” she exclaimed as she stepped away from the pallet jack and gestured to it with both hands.

Knock Out blinked down at what she had brought, then set his data pad aside and stepped closer to lean down and pick up the Energon stick. He eyed it warily for a moment, bringing it to his olfactory to give it a sniff first and carefully taste-testing it with his glossa, in case this was some sort of joke Miko was playing on him. But no, this was legit. He took a small nibble off one end and blinked. “This is a _Swizzler!”_

Miko had climbed back up onto the counter (though this time by using the counter itself), and rolled her eyes at Knock Out’s mistrust of the Energon treat. “Y’mean _Twizzler?_ Like the candy?” she shrugged to that. “Sure, I guess.”

“It’s _real!” _Knock Out took another bite, then blinked to what remained as though he still couldn’t believe what he was holding. “Where did Bulkhead _get_ these!? I haven’t seen these in _vorns!” _

“He made them out of regular Energon, I watched him do it,” Miko said as she sat down beside Raf on the counter. “He can make all kinds of stuff.”

Knock Out scoffed to that, and he set the Energon stick to one side of his mouth like a toothpick before glancing to the data pad again. “Since when does _Bulkhead_ know how to bake?”

“While he was recovering from being shot by that big ugly Insecticon, Hardshell, and Ratchet wouldn’t let him leave the base for months, he got bored and taught himself,” Miko said as she leaned back on her palms and smirked. _“I_ was the one who killed Hardshell, y’know. Gave ‘im a little taste of Wrecker’s revenge.”

“Good for you,” Knock Out muttered, having had a little taste of Wrecker revenge himself not so long ago, and he realized then that he had not seen nor heard of Wheeljack since then. He made a mental note to try and learn of the Autobot’s whereabouts from Rafael later.

“So, am I in now?” Miko asked. “Can I ask you about stuff? The _real _stuff?”

Shifting the Energon stick from one side of his denta to the other with his glossa, Knock Out narrowed his optics on her. “First I want your word that nothing I say to you leaves this room. You don’t tell Jack, you don’t tell the Autobots, you don’t tell your parental units, _no one._ _No _living thing, and no _inanimate _thing either.

Miko shrugged. “Deal.”

“Hold up your hands and swear it on your God, or whatever it is you believe in.”

_“Hold up my hands?”_ Miko blinked to Knock Out, then to Raf before she shrugged and sat up, showing both her hands. “Uhhh…I promise and swear to God I won’t tell anyone. Why am I holding my hands up while I say this?”

Knock Out seemed satisfied with that, then held up his own hand. “So you don’t do _this _while you swear to it,” he crossed his fingers for a moment. “I know that human custom dictates that if one does this gesture while one verbally agrees to something, it renders that agreement null and void,” he said, quite seriously.

Miko stared for a moment, then laughed so hard she nearly fell over backwards. Rafael tried to hide his laugh behind the screen of his laptop, but failed miserably. “Holy shit, only _kids_ do that! Hahaha! Ohhh, man,” Miko shook her head and laughed all the more as Knock Out scowled. “This is gonna be so much _fun!”_

_“Yipee,”_ Knock Out replied sarcastically, and he chewed on the Energon stick to remind himself that its sweetness was worth being laughed at by a tiny human. Yet he realized that Miko’s laughter proved he knew very little about human mannerisms and how their society actually worked, despite having seen many of their movies and television shows. He had always assumed he had a good understanding of the species, but that had been proven wrong ever since the Autobots had taken him back to Earth at the end of the war. He supposed he could stand to learn about human culture from actual humans instead of relying on their apparently untrustworthy media. It wasn’t like he had much else going on.

“So!” Miko clapped her hands together, still all smiles as she looked up to him. “Tell me where all the mecha are.”

Rafael looked up as well and shrugged to Knock Out. “I was kinda wondering that myself. We asked Arcee once and all she said was that there were just less of them. She never said _why,_ though.”

With a vented sigh, Knock Out rolled his optics and moved to set the data pad down, but a window suddenly popped up on the screen, alerting him that Ratchet had just sent an external message to the device. He could read the title of the message in the subject line—"RE: Smokescreen.”

“Get out,” Knock Out commanded the two humans as he turned his back to them both so that they wouldn’t sense his growing anxiety on his faceplates. He’d been waiting three cycles for this stupid message, and now that it was here, he was terrified to open it.

“Aww, c’moooon!” Miko quickly hopped to her feet, ready to argue, as always. “I just _got_ here! You were about to tell us about the chick bots!”

“_NOW, _or all deals are off,” Knock Out growled, still not looking back to the pair. He heard Rafael muttering something to Miko about leaving, and listened to the sounds of their shoes as they walked across the countertop and eventually the concrete floor as they ran for the doorway. He waited a few more nano-klicks before finally glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were really gone, then quickly removed the Energon stick from his mouth and set the data pad down as he stared at the message on the screen.

This whole thing suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. What had he been thinking in agreeing to contact Smokescreen at all? What if the mech was already on his way here? What if he showed up tomorrow? Or this very cycle? Knock Out knew it was too late to stop himself from getting unnecessarily worked up over this, he was already there. With a wince, he pressed a finger down onto the screen to open the message, holding that grimace as he read the Cybertronian script that was now displayed. It was not from Smokescreen at all.

_“I had your message sent to the Elite Guard compound operating northwest of New Iacon, since that was where Smokescreen was stationed. The message bounced back and just returned to my data logs about ten Earth minutes ago. It seems Smokescreen’s quit his post and the Guard altogether, and his current location is unknown. I can send an inquiry to Autobot Command and see if anyone’s heard from him, if you like?”_

_ – Ratchet_

Knock Out read the words twice, just to be sure he hadn’t missed something, before sinking down onto the stool behind him to sit and rub a hand over his faceplates. It was not relief that was washing over him at the fact Smokescreen never received the message, it was worry bordering on fear, the same fear he’d felt when Buzzsaw mentioned how she’d love to tear Smokescreen apart. She wasn’t the only Decepticon that would target him, either, he was sure of it. Starscream, Megatron, and potentially Shockwave were all still out there, plotting Primus knows what, and Knock Out knew they probably all had their optics on the young mech already, since the cycle he’d spoken up at his trial.

With sigh of defeat, Knock Out grit his denta as he glared at his reflection on the data pad while typing his response. His emotional reaction to the message was killing him just as much as admitting to Ratchet that he was right.

_“Fine. You win. I do care. Please find him.”_

_ – KO_


	13. The Realization

Despite his best efforts, Smokescreen found himself struggling to keep an open mind as he and Strongarm listened to Metalhawk talk about each of the murals.

The de facto leader of the Neutrals met Smokescreen and Strongarm by the entry gate to New Iacon as promised, and gave them a tour of the paintings on the city walls. Metalhawk took his time in explaining who had created them, and what each piece represented. There was far more symbolism in the artwork than Smokescreen realized, but it was still hard for him not to become upset when they came to the mural of Optimus Prime and Megatron infused as one bot and portrayed as equal destroyers of Cybertron.

“I am happy to take questions,” Metalhawk said once they had walked the length of the walls and viewed each of the paintings, “but I will not argue with you. You said you wanted to understand all of this,” he gestured back at the walls with a hand, “I hope that you are mature enough to attempt to do so without your emotions getting in the way of that, but if my sensors are correct, you’re already failing there.”

Smokescreen reigned his EM field back, though he knew it was already too late. He’d said nothing while Metalhawk explained everything, and now he felt like the mech was taunting him, _trying_ to make him angry to prove some sort of point. He knew he couldn’t fall into the mech’s trap, but it was hard.

“It’s like I already said,” Smokescreen tried not to glare as he replied, “Optimus _literally _sacrificed himself to save the planet, _our_ planet. _None of us_ would have a home to come back to if it weren’t for him. But then you guys paint him up there beside Megatron like he’s just as bad, when in reality he’s the _exact opposite. _How can you all think Megatron and Optimus Prime are the same when Optimus saved us all?”

Metalhawk considered Smokescreen’s question for a moment before he turned and pointed to the opening in the wall, and the road that lead out of the city and towards the Well of AllSparks. “Do you know why the monument to Optimus Prime sits undisturbed and free from vandalism?” he asked, and when Smokescreen shook his head in the negative, he continued. “Because of this sacrifice of which you speak. The Neutrals do not deny that what he did saved our world, but it is clearly true that we do not hold him in as high regard as the Autobots. He was still one of two sides in the Great War, you cannot deny that. Yes, he saved us all, but do we celebrate him for it? No, because Optimus _owed us_ that sacrifice for his part in destroying this planet. He knew what he had done to Cybertron, he knew what he needed to do to restore it. His final act does not mean he is a hero, it means he acknowledged he was responsible for his part in the war. He knew there was only one way to make right all of the wrongs he and his Autobots had done, and all of the damage that he caused,” Metalhawk paused once more, watching the two younger bots before him. “Do you understand what I mean?”

Smokescreen narrowed his optics as he tried to keep his anger in check. He had never thought about Optimus that way. He remembered Optimus’s speech that cycle in front of the Well, and how calm the Prime had been, how willing he was to return the Matrix to the Well, and how insistent he was that doing so was not a choice but a necessity. It was true that Optimus _knew_ he had to offer himself up to save the planet and their race. Still, didn’t all of that make Optimus “the good guy”? Looking back up to the mural again, Smokescreen shrugged. “I guess, but Megatron was _evil._ The Decepticons were _evil. _Optimus _wasn’t,_ and the Autobots _aren’t._”

Metalhawk chuckled as he turned and began to walk along the length of the wall again, gesturing for them to follow. “Do you see everything so black and white all of the time?”

“No,” Smokescreen said, confident in his answer as he followed along, “I just know the right side when I see it.”

“Do you think the ‘right side’ would have been so obvious to you if you had been given the choice between sides at the beginning of the war, instead of having that choice made for you?”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Smokescreen stopped in his tracks, no longer trying to hide his anger. “An Autobot saved my _life!_ Alpha Trion saved my _life!_ _And _hers!” he pointed to Strongarm then, who had been silent the entire time, though she was certainly listening while the other two conversed. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him!”

“And then you joined the Autobot Elite Guard,” Metalhawk said, not bothering to stop when Smokescreen did, so that the younger bots were forced to catch up again.

“Yeah, so?”

“Why?” Metalkhawk asked as he looked back to the pair, and he watched them as they glanced between one another like they did not understand the question.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Strongarm said. “The Autobots saved us.”

“So, you owed them?” Metalhawk countered.

“No!” Smokescreen said. “They helped us when we were in need, so we helped them in return! That’s how teams work!”

“Did they force you to enter the Guard?”

“Of course not!”

“But were you given an alternative?”

That caused both Smokescreen and Strongarm to pause again as they both thought back to their early cycles. Neither could recall being told they _must_ enter the Guard, but looking back, had there really been any other choice? Were they even offered any other options?

“There wasn’t…really…anything else,” Smokescreen hesitated to say. He’d never even questioned whether he had a choice or not.

“So, the choice was made for you,” Metalhawk shrugged as his point was made. “The Autobots have as many brainwashing tactics as the Decepticons, they just use different methods when going about it.”

“We weren’t brainwashed,” Strongarm said, and she glared as well as she continued to walk alongside Metalhawk. “We were offered an opportunity and we took it.”

“Why do you think you were ‘offered’ such an opportunity?”

“The Elite Guard is made up of the _best of the best_ Warriorbots. Alpha Trion saw how skilled we were and he thought it would be a good fit,” said Smokescreen. “The training wasn’t even that hard!” he added, because he was _that_ confident in his abilities.

Metalhawk smirked to Smokescreen’s arrogance as he led the two deeper into the city limits. “Ahh, of course. You’re the _best of the best._ How _lucky _for you then! No _wonder_ the Autobots scooped you right up,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, and when Smokescreen and Strongarm both raised their brows to him, he continued. “That’s how it began, you see. Once Optimus Prime and Megatron went their separate ways and formed their own factions in order to fight against the oppressive Functionist regime, they took very different recruiting paths to bolster their numbers. Optimus went to the universities and institutions first. The Autobots focused on enlisting the smart bots, _the best and the brightest_ from all the functions that fell into the High caste. Optimus thought that he could win the war through knowledge and science and blindly assumed that every mech and mecha would see things his way because he had the academics and ‘the voice of reason and logic’ backing him. He rallied most of the Elite Class from the High caste to his side and foolishly believed that because they were the best in their fields and the most educated, that rest of society would follow right along.

“Megatron took the opposite route. He went first back to the mines, back to his humble beginnings, and recruited the bots there that he knew were already being oppressed by the Functionists. Then he went above ground, to the construction crews, and the maintenance bots, and those in the Low castes. There were some academics from the Elite Class and High caste that joined him, yes, and some Low castes that joined Optimus as well, but the Decepticons were mostly made up of the poorly-educated, underpaid, and downtrodden bots who had already been suffering for millennia under Functionist rule. Megatron assumed that gathering an army that had nothing to lose would assure him a victory over the Functionists,” Metalhawk paused in his steps then. The three of them now stood at the beginning of rows and rows of fabricated metal structures and space shuttles turned into semi-permanent living quarters. Night had fallen, and the electric lights that hung from the makeshift buildings flickered along the unpaved streets. With all of the rebuilding going on, there was a constant film of dust on everything, and a haze hung in the air even when most of the construction stopped for the evening, making the town seem even more bleak and unwelcoming.

“You want to understand a Neutral’s perspective on the war?” Metalhawk continued as he turned his glowing blue optics back to Smokescreen. “Instead of choosing to combine their forces, Optimus Prime and Megatron effectively split our society down even further. _That_ is our perspective. It was the High caste pitted against the Low caste. Those of us that saw it early on tried our best to convince them to work together, but they refused. It is because of _both_ of them that this planet and our society suffered such a ridiculous war for so long. And while Optimus Prime and Megatron _did _destroy the Functionists, the Autobots and Decepticons just kept right on going with it until there was nothing left,” he said as he gestured to their right, where rubble and wreckage was still heaped into a pile at the side of the street. “And this is the end result of four million megacycles of violence and suffering. This, and those of us left alive to pick up the pieces.”

Smokescreen had never heard the Neutral’s version of the war, and the events leading up to it. He supposed it was true that he really did only have one perspective of it all, the Autobot perspective. Still, he didn’t like the insinuations Metalhawk was making, and figured that the mech was likely just as biased in his own viewpoint. He had not forgotten what Metalhawk said about Knock Out during his trial, for instance. Smokescreen was still convinced he might be able to make Metalhawk see things _his_ way, though, the _Autobot_ way. “I get what you’re saying, but the Autobots didn’t cause _nearly_ as much suffering as the Decepticons did. The Decepticons wiped out _entire species._ They _tortured_ bots. They killed _each other!_ The Autobots _never_ did stuff like that!”

Metalhawk smiled, though Smokescreen could sense pity drifting from his EM field. “I can introduce you to some bots who can prove otherwise, if you like?”

“Now?” Smokescreen blinked, and when Metalhawk gave a nod, he did not hesitate to respond. Everything seemed like a challenge with this Neutral, but Smokescreen wasn’t going to let the mech push him around. “Alright, let’s go.”

Strongarm had been standing silently by, listening to the other bots talk and taking in everything Metalhawk said to form her own opinions, but she had also been scanning the Public Feed on her HUD. Now that they were in the city proper, the signal was clearer, and she was picking up all kinds of questionable activity that she felt Ironhide might be interested to know. “I’m gonna head back to the ship,” she said as she glanced between Metalhawk and Smokescreen, who was giving her a surprised look. She didn’t want to lie to her best friend, but she needed an out, and she would, of course, explain everything to him later. “I just got a message from Ironhide, he needs me back at the ship,” she said, and when Smokescreen nodded, she quickly transformed beside him and sent him an inner comm. {“I’ll comm you later. Stay safe, and watch your aft around this guy.”}

{“I will,”} Smokescreen commed back, and he watched the red glow of her taillights disappear as she drove off down the dark road before he looked back to Metalhawk. “Let’s do this.”

The large grounder mech stood two meters taller than Smokescreen, and with his servos crossed, he certainly looked intimidating. He was all heavy armor plating the color of rust, and his green optics were set in a perpetual glare as he leered down at the younger bot. They had found him lingering outside a makeshift bar some Neutral had set up deep within New Iacon’s city limits. Smokescreen was sure the bar was illegal and that it was being operated without a high-grade license, but he put all that aside as he listened to the larger Neutral who, despite his size, had been very reluctant to speak in front of the Autobot. With a little coaxing and reassurance from Metalhawk, he finally gave in.

“Me an’ my Conjux was holed up on Charon with about thirty other bots,” he began, still glaring down at Smokescreen like the mech was the scum of the planet. “We figured we’d wait out the war there; found a nice deposit of Engeron just under the surface early on. We been there for about three million megacycles when an Autobot ship dropped in. There was a hundred of ‘em. They said they needed our assistance, needed our Energon. None of us was armed,” he spread his arms then, as if to make a point of his weaponless frame. “I _still_ ain’t armed. The Autobots pulled their weapons on us anyway, an’ said they were takin’ our entire Energon stash. The ship’s captain said they _had_ ta take it ‘cause ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’. They left us enough Engeron ta fuel our ships so’s we could leave the planet on account’a there was no more Energon ta live off of,” the large mech paused there, narrowing his optics down to Smokescreen. “Problem was we were short a ship, and we couldn’t get everyone off that moon, so we were forced ta leave some bots behind. All those bots are deactivated now. Ran outta Energon.”

This was not something Smokescreen had been expecting to hear, and he had a very hard time believing it. No _way_ the Autobots would leave bots to die like that! There must have been some mistake. “Are you _sure_ they were Autobots?” he asked.

“Damn sure. They all had the brands,” the larger bot said as he pointed to the Autobot symbol on Smokescreen’s chestplates.

“How d’you know it wasn’t Decepticons in disguise?” Smokescreen quickly countered, and the other bot scoffed.

“Weren’t no disguises, mech. The captain of that ship was Ultra Magnus.”

The next bot that Metalhawk introduced to Smokescreen that evening was not one he would soon forget. The mech was a survivor of a Liquid Shrapnel attack. He was currently living in a tiny ship with his Amica Endura, confined to a recharge slab because his frame was so permanently damaged that he was unable to stand. The Liquid Shrapnel had burned so many holes in his armor plating that Smokescreen could not determine its original color, and where there was no armor plating, the bot’s protoflesh was a patchwork of deep scars.

Smokescreen had never heard of Liquid Shrapnel, let alone that the Autobots had been the ones to create it. His immediate response was one of complete denial, until the disabled bot’s Amica used the ship’s console to pull up old images and fuzzy recordings of several battles where not only Liquid Shrapnel, but other chemical agents were used by the Autobots against the Decepticons as well. Smokescreen did not recognize the Autobots in the film, but their Autobrands were clearly visible on their armor and battleships as they dropped gas-filled bombs over city ruins and hosed down swaths of Decepticons with acidic sprays from handheld weapons.

“Piston here is just one of many, _many_ hundreds of thousands of Neutrals who got caught up in the crossfire between the Autobots and the Decepticons,” Metalhawk said as he eyed Smokescreen closely, and he thought he could detect a shift in the young mech’s signature, from denial to dread. _Finally, the mech is learning,_ he thought. “Who taught you the history of the Great War?”

“Alpha Trion,” Smokescreen said, his optics staring at the scenes of carnage still displayed on the screen, “and then a Commanding Officer in the Elite Guard, and then Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus.”

“All Autobots,” Metalhawk confirmed. “Did you ever wonder, Smokescreen, if the version of historical events you were taught might not be the entire truth? Have you ever searched through the Cybertron Historical Archives and done your own research?”

“Of _course_ I have,” Smokescreen finally looked back to Metalhawk and glared. “I’m not _stupid.”_

“I am not suggesting you lack intelligence,” said Metalhawk, and he raised both brows. “On what system did you access the Archives?”

“On ship consoles, like this,” Smokescreen said as he pointed to the monitor before them, “and the manuals given to us during Elite Guard training, and from Alpha Trion’s _personal library,”_ he added with emphasis, glaring again. “Alpha Trion would _never _hide the truth from me!”

“Autobot ships, Autobot-generated materials, and scripture from a mech who hid an Omega Key in your chassis and used a Decepitcon attack as a cover story to put you into stasis, _all_ without your knowledge,” Metalhawk said, and he smiled as his tone turned sarcastic. “No, he would _never_ hide the truth from _you!”_

Smokescreen suddenly felt his Spark drop into his tanks. Metalhawk was touching on a point that already made him feel uneasy, though he had never spoken about it to anyone. He had often questioned why Alpha Trion had not told him he was carrying an Omega Key, though he’d always told himself it was not for lack of trust, but because the mission had been so important. It was better that Smokescreen not know, he’d surmised, in case someone tried to torture him for information (which _had_ in fact nearly happened, at the hands of his own Sire, no less). But what of _that_ important fact? Had Alpha Trion known Knock Out was his Sire and never told him, and if so, why? And where was Alpha Trion _now?_ Why hadn’t he reappeared to help them rebuild Cybertron? He couldn’t possibly be deactivated, could he? Smokescreen had always assumed the mech was too powerful to be defeated, he had felt that power in the bot’s EM field many times. So, where _was_ he? Didn’t he care about _any_ of them anymore?

Smokescreen found he did not know how to reply to what Metalhawk said, and he was suddenly embarrassed that the mech could make him question Alpha Trion and, truthfully, the Autobots as a whole, so easily. He pushed a button on the console, so that the images of chemical warfare were no longer displayed on the screen, then cast a sorrowful look to Piston, who was seemingly forever-relegated to a recharge slab for the rest of his cycles. How could he help this bot?

“We have Medics,” he said, and quickly glanced between all three Neutrals. “Ratchet and First Aid and Fixit. They can patch you up. They can make you better!” he said to Piston directly, and only then did he realize that the bot could not speak, as Piston glanced to his Amica to speak for him.

“We’ve _gone _to Medics, they can’t fix him,” said Piston’s Amica, and the bot glared at Smokescreen all the more. “Primus, you think we haven’t thought of that already!? _Now _who’s intelligence is being insulted?”

“I’m sorry,” Smokescreen was quick to raise both hands in defense, “I just want to help! There _has_ to be a way to help him!”

“There is no helping him, Smokescreen,” Metalhawk said with a shrug, “his wounds are long-since healed, and the damage is done. The Autobots and the Decepticons both have their heroes, do they not? Well, _this_ is what a hero looks like to a Neutral,” he said as he gestured to Piston with a hand. “He is a survivor, despite what the war has done to him.”

Again, Smokescreen looked between the three mechs, at Piston with his dull-glowing optics and permanent look of pain, and his Amica, who so clearly wanted Smokescreen dead, and Metalhawk, who was oddly calm, his EM field wide open and probing Smokescreen’s for a response. And still Smokescreen wasn’t sure if he should believe everything he was hearing. “Why would the Autobots _lie_ to me?” he finally asked Metalhawk. “If what you say is true, if they really kept the truth from me, then _why!?”_

“So that you could do their bidding,” Metalhawk said, and he shook his helm, his legitimate sympathy for the younger mech suddenly very prominent in his EM field. “They needed you, don’t you see? They needed you to see their plans through to fruition.”

“But the Matrix _chose_ me!” Smokescreen said as he put a hand to his chestplates. “The Matrix is _bigger_ than factions! It’s bigger than _all_ of us!” he said, though he was suddenly doubting himself he looked between the three. “_Isn’t_ it!? Isn’t that a sign that the Autobots are on the right path!?”

“I would not agree that the Autobots are on the ‘right’ path,” Metalhawk said, “but you’re not listening to your own words, Smokescreen. The Matrix chose you, and yes, it _is _bigger than factions_. _Its power encompasses _all_ bots, does it not? You admit this fact yourself. Yet here you are, wearing the Autobot sigil,” he reached out then, and clasped Smokescreen on the shoulder, right where his Elite Guard brand had been only a few cycles prior. “All I’m asking, mech, all _we_ are asking,” he said as he nodded to his two fellow Neutrals, “is that you follow the Matrix’s example. Think _bigger_ than factions. Think _beyond_ Autobots and Decepticons. You’re already halfway there. You left the Autobot Elite Guard because you knew they were purposefully holding you back, didn’t you?”

Smokescreen eyed Metalhawk’s hand on his servo, though he did not try to remove it as he glanced to his peds. “Yes,” he admitted, knowing that the Neutral leader had overheard everything he and Strongarm had said to Ultra Magnus earlier. There was no point in denying it.

“And how does it make you feel, that they were holding you back?”

“…Horrible. It’s like they don’t want me around anymore.”

“So, they don’t want you around? Then now is the time to become _bigger_ than them. Now is the time to learn things for yourself, _by yourself,”_ Metalhawk said, then he popped a compartment open in his armor plating, reached in, and produced a thin, metal thumb drive, which he handed to Smokescreen. “Do your _own_ research. This is an activation key to Vector Sigma. It will give you access to everything you’ve been missing. You know of her existence, yes?”

Smokescreen reluctantly took the key from Metalhawk’s hand. He had heard several members of Team Prime talk of Vector Sigma before; he could have sworn the only key to her was owned by Optimus Prime, and thus that it had been destroyed with him. Smokescreen had never thought to request access to the supercomputer of all of Cyberton himself when Optimus was still alive, why would he? He had the leader of the Autobots there to teach him. Now he stared at the key for a moment, and was suddenly embarrassed to admit what he said next. “I have heard of her, but…I don’t know where to plug this in.”

“On the southwest edge of New Iacon is an old moon relay base. You can use the key on the console there, if it’s not too damaged. It will give you full, unfiltered access to Vector Sigma. Ask her to verify everything we’ve talked about tonight; ask her whatever you like. She is the oldest sentient being on this planet. It has been said she has a direct link to Primus himself. She is known to be cryptic, and sometimes speaks in ways that are difficult to decipher, but it is said that she will speak clearly to those who have a receptive Spark. I believe you have a receptive Spark,” Metalhawk said as he finally released Smokescreen’s shoulder and stepped back. “But before you leave, I want to make one thing clear: We are not asking you to join the Neutrals. We are simply asking you to broaden your horizons, and to come to your own conclusions. I believe you are capable of that, don’t you?”

Smokescreen stared at the key, unable to look back up to Metalhawk as his mind was suddenly reeling from all of the information that he had received in the past three hours. He actually _wanted_ to believe that everything the Neutrals were saying were lies, but they had also made several valid points. He had always assumed that there was a possibility that Team Prime was keeping information about the war from him. In their optics, he was still a Childe, still someone to try and protect from the truth and horrors of the war. And how could he blame them, really, when he’d kept his own secrets about his past from them for so long?

But the video clips and images he’d just seen, and the bots he’d just met, they were starting to make him question everything. Team Prime had never mentioned Autobots taking Energon from Neutrals by force. There had been no mention of anyone being caught in the crossfire. And there had been no mention of chemical warfare at _all. _Smokescreen was certain that the use of chemical and biological weapons in warfare was highly illegal, due to the Non-Conventional Weapons Act. Wasn’t that something the Autobots supposedly adhered to? In fact, he could have sworn he read about all of that in the Elite Guard’s own war convention manuals back in his basic training cycles. Metalhawk had definitely spoken the truth on one point: Smokescreen needed to do his own research.

With a final sigh, Smokescreen shoved the key into his own compartment as he finally looked back up to Metalhawk. “Alright, I’ll check out the base tomorrow and see if it’s operational,” he eyed the ship’s exit. “I should probably be getting back to Headquarters.”

“Might I suggest you take the long way back,” said Metalhawk as he followed Smokescreen to the metal door. “Drive through New Iacon, see us living our lives through your _own _optics, and listen to our words with your _own_ audials for a change. _That’s_ why you came here, isn’t it? If you truly want to be a part of Cybertron’s renewal and rebirth, you need to be familiar with all of Cybertron’s peoples, not just the Autobots. Don’t lock yourself away on the Nemesis like the rest of them. Out _here_ is where you will make a real difference,” he concluded as he stepped out onto the ship’s loading ramp and gestured to the shantytown with a hand.

Smokescreen took Metalhawk’s advice and did in fact take the long way back to Autobot headquarters. Instead of transforming into vehicle mode, he chose to walk. The streets were mostly dark and deserted now that night had fallen, but every few blocks he would walk past small gatherings of bots here and there. He made a point to try and make optic contact with every bot that he passed, but he was mostly met with glares and the occasional derogatory comment about Autobots through muttered, dampened vocalizers. Yet there were a few bots who nodded back, and even one or two who stopped him to introduce themselves and ask him why he, an Autobot, was so far away from the Nemesis to begin with, concerned that he might be lost.

Time got away from him as he wandered the streets for nearly an hour before he realized that he _really_ ought to be getting back. He was surprised that Strongarm hadn’t sent him an inner comm yet, but he knew she knew he could take care of himself.

He had just transformed into vehicle mode and was about to head back to the ship when he rounded a corner and hit his breaks hard at the sight of the mech he spotted walking just off the street to his right. Somewhere from deep within Smokescreen databanks, a memory suddenly resurfaced, and it caught him so off guard that he found himself quickly transforming back to his protoform and hurrying after the mech before he could even question where that memory came from.

“Wait!” Smokescreen called, though he stopped dead in his tracks when the bot turned around and raised a brow. The mech was only slightly taller than him, and the glow of his purple optics was so intense Smokescreen found himself wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake in calling after him. But it wasn’t the bot’s piercing optics or his armor plating that had struck Smokescreen so deeply; it was the silver band wrapped around his neck. Smokescreen was certain he’d seen it before, long ago, and he was so desperate to grab onto any piece of his past he could remember that he felt he couldn’t just pass by this mech without asking him about it. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to ask where you got your necklace?” he said, and quickly raised both hands to the mech, who was now eyeing him up and down critically. Smokescreen found he was suddenly embarrassed by his own question, as the mech was giving him a look like he might be crazy.

_“What?”_ the bot asked, clearly confused as he eyed Smokescreen up and down yet again, and Smokescreen noted that at the bot’s vocalization, a light flashed inside his mouth. Every word he spoke caused a blue glow to emanate from his throat; it was not something Smokescreen had ever seen on any bot before. It was a bit mesmerizing. In fact, the mech’s _entire frame_ was mesmerizing.

Smokescreen had a hard time guessing what the mech’s altmode might be, but judging by the angles of the armor and fins he spotted on the bot’s lower legs, he assumed he was a Seeker. The bot’s palette, from ped to helm, faded from black, to dark blue, to mid-blue and then pale blue; the entire spectrum of the colors of the sky at dusk, all the way up to the helmet pieces around his silver faceplates. The darker plating on his shins and calves was dotted with little white stars. How the mech kept his armor so shiny and spotless in the post-war shambles of a city they all lived in now, he didn’t know. Smokescreen couldn’t help but stare for a few moments before shaking his head at himself and speaking again. “Your necklace,” he said as he tapped at his own neck, “where did you buy it?” He hadn’t seen many bots wear jewelry, as most of it had been melted down for parts, weapons, and ammunition during the war, but he knew that jewelry had been far more common in the before times.

The mech could only blink at Smokescreen for a moment before he laughed out loud at the question, the inside of his entire mouth shining in a blue glow as he did so. He began to wonder if this kid was really serious. Maybe this mech was just nervous? No matter, he was used to that. “I didn’t_ buy_ it,” he chuckled as he stepped closer to the Autobot, but he paused just short of laying a hand on the younger bot in front of him, suddenly aware of the blank look he was getting. “I’m sorry, are looking for services?” he finally asked, just to be sure.

Smokescreen was frozen where he stood. “What do you mean?”

_“Services?”_ the bot repeated, now canting his head to one side. Maybe this mech was slow? Not that that was a problem, he could work with anyone. “Are you looking to get _serviced?”_

“I don’t understand?”

“Oh, Primus,” the bot huffed and raised a hand to rub at his forehelm. Truthfully, he didn’t _want_ to go back to the ‘old ways’, but he needed the credits. _Everyone _needed credits now, and he counted himself lucky that he had a failsafe way of making them. His function would never go out of style and would always be in demand. Yes, he was lucky, at least that’s what he liked to tell himself. “Look, kid—"

_“Smokescreen._ My designation is _Smokescreen,”_ he quickly interrupted, and could not help but glare at being called “kid”.

“Okay, _Smokescreen,”_ the bot sighed, then suddenly went still, his optics wide as the designation rang a bell in his memory bank. “Wait, you mean _Knock Out’s_ Smokescreen?”

“…_Yes,”_ Smokescreen instantly went on the defensive. Knock Out had warned him this was bound to happen, that bots would recognize him, and associate him with the Decepticons (funny, as most of the Neutrals he’d met that evening disliked him because he was an _Autobot_), and thus in a negative light. He wanted to believe it would never happen, but here he was, and it was happening, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He surprised himself that his initial reaction was anger. “Is that a _problem?” _he asked, and that anger flared outward in his EM field, and (though he was not aware of it) through a quick, bright flare in his optics as well.

“No!” the bot quickly held up both hands, reading the kid’s anger immediately. “No, I—I’m sorry!”

Ever since Knock Out’s trial had been broadcast live on CNN, anyone who had spoken during it was now “famous”, regardless of what they had said or what “side” they had been on. For some reason that Smokescreen could not process in the immediate moment, he hated this Seeker mech for recognizing him. But the necklace around the bot’s neck was hitting too close to home, and then it suddenly came to him as those millennia-old memories continued to flood his system. “Knock Out used to have a necklace just like that,” he said as the memories finally fell into place. His optics fixated on the collar for a moment before he was able to look the mech in the faceplates again. “Where did you get it?”

_“Used _to?” the bot said as he took another step, his signature suddenly pulsing with interest.

“Yeah,” said Smokescreen, his brows furrowing as he tried to sort through all of the data he was dredging up from the past. “It was a different color than yours, but yeah.”

“But he doesn’t have it anymore?” the bot asked, looking for confirmation, and Smokescreen could feel the mech’s signature suddenly swell with hope.

“No. I haven’t seen him wear it in a long time. He must have lost it, or something.”

“But they don’t come off,” the bot said, and he tugged at the ring around his neck with a hand as though to prove his point. “This isn’t a necklace, it’s a collar. It’s a part of my frame. It’s integrated into my circuitry.”

Smokescreen stared for a moment before blinking back up to the mech. “I don’t understand?”

“Primus, kid, don’t you know what this collar _means?”_ the bot asked as he set his hands on his hips. Bots these cycles were so uneducated. He wasn’t sure why Smokescreen believed Knock Out had a collar as well, but he supposed he could get to the bottom of that if he asked the right questions. “Don’t you know what I _am!?_”

Suddenly the realization of his luck in meeting this mech on the street hit Smokescreen like a punch to the faceplates. Whatever the necklace was, the mech just made it clear that it was somehow tied to his function. Knock Out had once worn a similar necklace, or collar, or whatever it was, Smokescreen was _certain_ of it, and Knock Out had refused to tell him what his past function was before the war. Holy shit, _this was it!_ This mech was the missing link to _everything! _Smokescreen didn’t mean to be so dramatic, but he reached out and grabbed the mech’s servo with both hands, as though he was afraid to lose contact with him. He was not aware of how desperate he sounded when he spoke next, or of how much his EM field was now pulsing with excitement. “No, I _don’t_ know what it means! What _are_ you!?”


	14. The Third Lesson

Another full decacycle had now gone by since Knock Out sent the message to Smokescreen. Ratchet had originally spoken to Ironhide in an attempt to locate the younger mech, but, in so doing, was surprised to learn from his old friend that Smokescreen and some mecha designated ‘Strongarm’ had in fact left the Elite Guard altogether and were now under Ironhide’s own command as a part of New Iacon’s Civil Militia.

Although he was thankful for the update, upon hearing this news from Ratchet, Knock Out thought that was about the stupidest career move he’d ever heard, though he kept those thoughts to himself. He didn’t _want_ to care about what Smokescreen was doing with his life now, but he found that he couldn’t help it. Some distant memory— no, it was more like _instinct— _was pushing him to give a damn. He recognized the feeling; it was the same weird sense of attachment that had surfaced within him ages ago when he was caring for Smokescreen as a Sparkling. The word “instinct” was not commonly used among Transformers. They were not organic beings; they were driven by their _programming,_ not_ instinct_. Thanks to those early megacycles of medical training, Knock Out was familiar with such alien concepts as instinct, he just never thought he would experience it himself. Even back then he’d fought against it, but he knew it was his own fault for adding his CNA to the mix that was Smokescreen’s database. Knock Out had not expected to bond with the Sparkling back then, but he had, and he had not expected to mourn its loss when he was certain it had been deactivated all those millennia ago, but he had. Knock Out had assumed all of those feelings were behind him, but then suddenly he and the entire galaxy came to find out at his trial that the Sparkling was in fact alive, and it had a designation, and Knock Out had been fighting against it as its enemy for megacycles. And yet, despite all of that, it still came to his defense, and Knock Out still just didn’t know what to make of any of that.

He was even _more _surprised, however, that Smokescreen had failed to contact him once his recent message had been delivered. He was not sure if he should be concerned about the lack of contact or not, as Smokescreen’s silence could mean _anything._ Had the mech simply changed his mind about questioning Knock Out’s original function? Had he just given up and decided it was pointless information?

It was thoughts like this that kept Knock Out worrying during the day and barely recharging at night. He flip-flopped back and forth so many times about caring and then _not_ caring about what Smokescreen might know about his past that he felt like it was driving him crazy. He didn’t mention it to Ratchet because he simply didn’t want to talk about it with the old mech, and he didn’t mention it to First Aid because he figured that at this point, he was so deep in the hole with appearing like a complete pansy-aft to the smaller Medic that one more sign of weakness would probably make First Aid…do _what,_ exactly? Knock Out wasn’t sure. On the one hand he was worried the mech would write him off and abandon him completely, and on the other hand he told himself that he didn’t _need _the mech to care about his well-being so much, and that even suggesting he enjoyed First Aid’s company was wrong, so it would be fine, even preferable, for First Aid to write him off.

But he’d already expressed gratitude for the mech through his signature the first time First Aid had offered to sit and watch the sun rise with him. And he’d then done it again the second time they sat together, and the third, and the fourth. Entire Earth months had now gone by with First Aid showing up and flaring his soothing signature in the many moments that Knock Out became overwhelmed with his current station in life, and he had _let_ First Aid see him be weak all those times. It worried Knock Out constantly, that the mech had seen this in him, and that he might some cycle use it against him. He had zero reasons not to trust First Aid (except where Pharma was concerned), yet the mech’s continual openness and acceptance towards him made him wary. He _wanted_ to trust First Aid, he _wanted_ to trust the Autobots, but his databanks were having a hard time erasing a million megacycles of Decepticon propaganda. Lately, he found himself recalling the many times he’d listened to Megatron quote from _Towards Peace_ and talk about how the Autobots only cared about the High caste, the Outliers, and the highly-educated.

Knock Out was none of those things.

Were the Autobots just humoring him then, and throwing him a classic Autobot pity party by saying that if he was a good mech and followed all their directions, he too could become one them in time?

Was trying to become an Autobot even _worth_ it anymore?

In order to avoid these questions, Knock Out buried himself in his work for as many hours a cycle as Ratchet would let him which, it turned out, was a lot. The old mech seemed pleased with his enthusiasm for the job, though Knock Out worried how long that would last.

The human children, Rafael and Miko, had been oddly out of touch for the past decacycle as well. Knock Out has assumed from Miko’s very vocal desire to join their discussion that the two of them would have been back the very next cycle to bombard him with questions, yet there had been no word from them at all, for three Earth weeks.

That is, until today. And he would never, _ever _admit to anyone that he found their distraction from his miserable reality welcoming.

Knock Out was busy filing down the welding seam on a nearly-solid metal ball the size of a tire —one piece of some bot’s ball-and-socket shoulder joint— when Miko came sprinting into the room with Rafael eventually trailing in behind.

“Okayokayokayokay o-KAY!” Miko yelled once she and Rafael had situated themselves on the counter in the workshop, and she hurriedly flipped through a notebook she had brought with her. Today her hair was back in pigtails, but dyed bright orange. She had also brought on the pallet jack not one, but _two_ Energon treats, which Knock Out quickly taste-tested for authenticity, then hid in two separate places within the workshop. Ratchet patted him down every cycle for “contraband items”, but he didn’t check the workshop as often. Knock Out was confident the treats would be safe and unseen until he actually ingested them later.

“I know I asked about the chickbots last time, but _before_ we get to that,” Miko continued, giving Knock Out a pointed look, which then quickly turned into a devilish smirk, “Raf and I have more _important_ questions to ask first.”

“Wonderful,” Knock Out muttered, feigning annoyance at their presence.

“Raf?” Miko asked as she glanced to him, and Rafael held up a finger, indicating he needed a few more seconds as he quickly booted up his laptop before he then cleared his throat as he read from his own list of questions on the screen.

“*Ahem!* In your experience, what’s the most accurate fictional depiction of outer space and alien lifeforms that humans have ever created?”

Knock Out blinked to that, then furrowed his brow as he tried to recall every form of human media he’d ever consumed regarding space. He’d read and watched more than he realized. “I guess I’d have to go with…_The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. The universe isn’t as full of deep, existential meaning as you humans seem to think it is.”

“You owe me twenty dollars,” Rafael said to Miko, who huffed in annoyance.

_“Fine,_ dammit! My guess was _Alien_,” she said as she glanced back to Knock Out.

“That’s a close second, actually. The universe is as comically ridiculous as it is terrifying.”

“I’ll give you ten dollars,” Miko quickly said to Rafael before continuing. “Next question: What do you _love_ about humans the most?”

“You invented carnauba wax,” Knock Out replied without hesitation. “That stuff is amazing.”

It was Rafael’s turn again. “What’s your favorite human movie?”

“_Pretty Woman,” _Knock Out said after a moment’s consideration, “_except _for the part in the beginning where the human male absolutely _destroys_ the gears on that Lotus Esprit,” he cringed, gripping his side with a hand. ”Primus, my clutch hurts just _thinking_ about it.”

Miko raised both brows. “Wait, your favorite human movie is a 1990’s _romcom?_”

“What’s a ‘romcom’?”

Rafael tried his best not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. “Hehe, ’romantic comedy’.”

“Aww!” Miko said as she hugged the notebook to herself, “That’s so_ cute!_” and when Knock Out glared back to his work, she laughed. “I mean, it_ would_ be cute if you weren’t a cold-blooded killing machine! Speaking of,” she flipped through a few pages in her book again, “did you _really_ rip Sparks out of Vehicons for their parts?”

Knock Out instantly narrowed his gaze to her. “Yes.” Did she think his whole trial was based on a joke, or something?

“How about optics? Did you ever _rip_ a bot’s optics out with your bare hands?” she asked while making a “ripping” gesture with her own hand.

“_Yes,” _Knock Out was not sure why the human wanted such graphic details, and he didn’t like where this was going, which became very obvious in his glare and tone. “Got any _other_ questions about how I’ve killed things?”

Watching the exchange back and forth and sensing Knock Out’s attitude shift (while Miko seemed oblivious to that fact), Rafael quickly sent a warning look to his fellow human friend. “Miko—.”

“Okayokay!” Miko had been testing Knock Out’s boundaries, because why not, right? But she knew well enough to take a cue from Rafael, and she didn’t want to be kicked out of the discussion entirely. She sat down, cross-legged, beside Rafael and set her notebook aside as she looked up to Knock Out. “We’ll come back to that. _Maybe,”_ she added, once she saw Knock Out’s scowl.

Rafael would never know how thankful Knock Out was for redirecting Miko. Knock Out eyed the two humans in silence for a moment, now suddenly aware of how tightly he was gripping the filing tool in his left hand. He knew the pair couldn’t _sense_ Transformer EM fields, but one look at Rafael told him the kid could _see_ how angry he’d become in just a matter of nano-klicks. He wasn’t surprised by the emotion —of _course_ he’d be angry at being questioned about the reasons he was imprisoned there to begin with— but the quickness and the intensity of his anger scared _him_ probably more than it worried Rafael. He couldn’t afford to get angry at the humans and possibly harm them; he didn’t _want_ to harm them. But Miko’s line of questioning had crossed a line.

“Don’t ever ask me about killing things again,” he said to them both, though he was glaring right at Miko when he said it.

“We won’t!” Rafael quickly held up a hand before giving Miko a glaring look as well. _“Will_ we?”

“You’re right, my bad!” Miko held up both hands as well when she finally noticed the way Knock Out was holding the file, which had a nice, pointy end to it. “I won’t ask about that stuff again, I’m sorry. Soooo then…can you tell me why Arcee and Laserbeak are the only two female Transformers I’ve ever seen in my _whole_ life?” she asked, as though her almost-twenty years of existence on Earth was such a long time to have gone without seeing more of them.

Satisfied that the humans understood certain topics were off limits, Knock Out paused for a few nano-klicks to reign himself in, reminding himself that these were just stupid human children and that he shouldn’t allow them to piss him off. “What we refer to as ‘mecha’ are more rare because, of the original Thirteen Primes, only _one_ bot was what you humans would call ‘female’. _She_ was called ‘Solus Prime’. When she deactivated, Cybertron reabsorbed her frame into itself; the planet pulled her body down into its core. The spot where that occurred became what is now known as the Well of AllSparks.” Knock Out could already see that Miko wasn’t following, so he tried to put it into terms the human would understand. “I suppose if you had to say we all had a ‘mother’, _she,_ Solus Prime, the Well, would be it. From her frame all Sparks are created, through the will of Primus. But for every twelve ‘male’ or ‘mech’ that the Well produces, only one ‘female’ or ‘mecha’ is produced. That’s why there are so few mecha among our ranks. Also —Stay quiet for one more klick. I know it’s hard, but try,” he said as he quickly held up a finger to Miko, who had already opened her mouth to interrupt him before he was done. “You need to wrap your simple little mind around the fact that the human concepts of ‘gender’ and ‘sex’ do _not _apply to Cybertronians. What you consider ‘male’ and ‘female’ in both your physical biology and what you _feel_ in your tiny little brain nodes is not viewed in the same way on Cybertron. Male and female human bodies are different on the outside and the inside, and you assign yourselves a sex based on those physical traits, but with _us,_ physical appearances on the outside and inside have _very little_ to do with what you call ‘sex’. For _us,_ everything is based on what we feel in our Sparks. It’s like a _wavelength,_ almost. And just because there are less mecha straight out of the Well doesn’t mean those numbers remain consistent for eternity. Sometimes a bot’s feelings and wavelengths change over time, and sometimes they’re simply ambiguous forever. It’s not a _physical thing_, it’s more like a — a state of _being; _it’s some sort of_…alternate life frequency _or something. Sometimes a Transformer can live millions of megacycles before realizing which wavelength they really align with.”

“You mean bots Sparked as mech sometimes become mecha later?” Rafael asked.

“Exactly.”

“And the other way around, too?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Who cares ‘why’?” Knock Out shrugged. “It is what it is, no one questions it.”

Rafael was typing notes into his laptop, but Miko was giving Knock Out a wary look once he’d finished his explanation, as she finally understood what he was saying. Sort of.

“That’s kinda _fucked up,”_ she said as he narrowed her eyes a bit. “So, less chicks just because that’s how it was back in the day? Does Primus hate females or something?”

“What? _No!” _Knock Out slapped a hand to his forehelm and sighed. Primus, she really was dense. _“Nobody_ hates them, at _all! _Look, I don’t _know_ why it is the way it is, _okay?_ That’s just how it was explained to me ages ago!”

Miko eyed Rafael at that, who merely shrugged, before she looked back to Knock Out. “But still, overall, waaay less chicks, and waaay more dudes. Interesting. The whole homosexual thing isn’t problem, then?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Mechs havin’ sex with mechs!” Miko said while making what she assumed was the universal “intercourse” gesture by making a circle with the fingers of one hand and sticking the pointer finger of her other hand through it. “That’s not an _issue_ with you guys? There was never any, like, _laws_ on Cybertron against that or anything?”

Turns out that gesture _was_ universal. Knock Out rolled his optics. “You mean _interfacing?_ No, that was never an issue.”

“Huh!” Miko blinked to that before looking over to Rafael. “Y’know, for a race with super jacked up politics and genocidal tendencies, they’re actually pretty open-minded and progressive about some stuff.”

“I know,” Rafael could only shrug, “it’s weird.”

Knock Out flicked his red gaze between the two. “Can you not interface with whomever you choose on Earth?”

“It depends on the country you live in,” said Rafael. “In some places it’s cool, but in other places, they’ll kill you.”

“Primus, you’re a bunch of _savages!”_ Knock Out said with disgust. He’d had no idea how strict Earth customs were about interfacing, but now that he was aware of their self-imposed restrictions, he realized he wasn’t that surprised. Humans were _so_ far behind the universal times.

Miko instantly threw both hands into the air. “_Excuse_ me!? You guys just had _four million years_ of civil war! I think _you’re_ the savages!”

“Oh, please!” Knock Out set his work aside to finally give his full attention to the pair. He might have been unaware of the bizarre interfacing issue the humans had, but he’d watched enough human media in that past that he had become very familiar with their other misgivings. _“Our _war is over. _Your_ people are still fighting over petty and _ludicrous_ things, like which one of your religious belief systems is ‘the right one’ and whose armor is the ‘superior color’,” he said, and he pointed with both hands to the two humans and the difference in their skin tones. “Your planet is _pathetically_ young. Humans have been at war with each other for approximately ninety-two percent of your existence on Earth, did you know that? And you’ve learned _nothing_ from it. And maybe the Autobots kept this from you because they were worried about how you would receive them if they said otherwise, but it has always been_ painfully_ obvious to the rest of the universe that regardless of your palette colors and the deities you believe in, humans are _all the same,_ you’re just too _stupid_ to realize it.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fair,” Miko said, raising a hand to Knock Out again. “I’ll admit humans are stupid, but Transformers are stupid, too. Four million years is a long, _long_ time to fight a war, man.”

“It only seems like a long time to you because you barely live to be a hundred Earth years old,” Knock Out countered. _“Our_ race knows no age limitations. Some bots theorize that we can live over a billion megacycles.”

“But there’s no known bot that’s _that_ old, right?” Miko asked, and she watched as Knock Out paused to try and recall the truth of that statement.

“I suppose not.”

“And why is that?”

Knock Out narrowed his optics as he tried to think of an appropriate answer to Miko’s question. He did not realize her trap until it was too late. “…I don’t know.”

“Because most of you are _dead _because of your stupid war!_”_ Miko shrugged. “None of you has had the chance to make it to a billion years old because you’ve been _killing each other_ for so long.”

“The war wasn’t stupid,” Knock Out said as he glared again. “The Functionists _needed_ to be taken out. The caste system ruined our society. War was the only solution to removing them from power and fixing everything.”

“Alright, back to the good stuff,” Miko said as she flipped through a few more pages in her notebook, then readied her pen as she eagerly looked back up to Knock Out. “Did Wheeljack and Bulkhead ever have sexual relations?”

“MIKO!” Rafael’s eyes went wide as he looked to her.

“What!? Oh please, like you couldn’t sense that sexual tension a _mile _away!”

“Jesus,” Rafael covered his face with both hands, embarrassed beyond belief. He should have _never_ suggested she be in on these conversations.

Miko looked back to Knock Out again, still hopeful, but Knock Out’s optics never left his work, even though she was quite certain he’d heard the question. “Dude, seriously, have Bulk an’ Jackie ever fucked around?” she asked again, and when Knock Out still didn’t reply, she stood up, walked over to him, and stood right in front of the metal sphere he was working on, so that she could look straight up at his red optics. “_Have they!?” _she shouted.

Knock Out stilled his hands for a moment when Miko ran under one of his servos to stand between them, but as soon as she stopped moving, he went back to filing the welds. Slowly, a small smirk began to form on his lips as Miko persisted. He still didn’t look at her, but he could no longer keep his amusement from his faceplates. She was far more perceptive than he’d thought.

“If you don’t say anything in the next five seconds, I’m gonna assume they’re frag buddies!” Miko warned, and when Knock Out merely kept smiling and ignoring her, she started her countdown. “Five…four…three…two…_one._ OH my _GOD!” _she threw her hands into the air._ “_Are you _serious!?_ Doc Knock, are you _for real_ right now? Are you telling me they’ve fucked? Because that’s what I’m gonna have to assume now! You leave me no choice!” she said as she put her hands on her hips and looked to Rafael. “Now _you_ owe _me _twenty bucks.”

“He didn’t say anything!” Rafael said from behind his hands, which he’d put over his face because he was still that embarrassed about the topic of discussion.

“His face says it all! He’s _smiling!_ That means it’s _true!” _Miko ducked back under Knock Out’s left servo and sat back down beside Rafael once more. “Now tell me _how _Transformers fuck. I wanna know aaaall about ‘interfacing’. Don’t use Jackie and Bulkhead as examples though, that would be weird. Just gimme the basics,” she said, and beside her Rafael muttered _“Oh my God”_ behind his hands.

Knock Out finally allowed himself a small laugh as he tossed a hand to Miko in a wave of dismissal at her question, then pulled open a drawer under the counter to look for another tool. He was wondering how long it would take the two of them to ask such a thing. Humans were so predictable. “Go ask Ratchet.”

“I did, he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Ask Bulkhead then.”

“I _did,_ he wouldn’t tell me either!”

“Ask First Aid.”

Miko gave Knock Out a pointed to look to that. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, but he’s a virgin, and I don’t think he knows much about it aside from what his medical textbooks tell him.”

“Oh, you think so?” Knock Out finally looked over to her, one brow raised, though he gave no indication of how impressed he was that she’d come to that conclusion on her own.

“Yup. He got all embarrassed and flustered when I tried to ask him once, and then he told me that interfacing was something that should only take place between Conjux Endura, _if_ at all, and we _all _know he doesn’t have one, so, he’s a virgin,” Miko shrugged.

“How observant of you.”

_“Soooo?”_ Miko said as she gestured to Knock Out with both hands. “Will you tell me?”

Knock Out set a few tools on the counter before shutting the drawer and looking to Rafael, who he noticed had finally put his hands back onto the keyboard of his laptop and was now seemingly awaiting a response. “You want to hear about this, too?” Knock Out asked, because he wasn’t going to say anything if the entire topic made Rafael _that_ uncomfortable.

“…Yeah,” Rafael quietly admitted, hunching his shoulders a bit like he felt guilty to say it.

With a sigh of annoyance, Knock Out moved to the door to take a peek out at the Medbay, which was still thankfully empty. When he stepped back to the counter, he paused for a moment, debating how exactly he was going to go about this. He didn’t mind educating others about the fine art of interfacing, _it was his specialty after all,_ whether he wanted it to be or not. He’d never been asked to explain it to an alien race though, and while he assumed Rafael’s interest came from genuine curiosity, he questioned Miko’s real intentions. He was certain that neither of them would tell the Autobots what they might learn here today, but he also didn’t want to overstep any weird human social boundaries he might be completely unaware of when talking about interfacing, or “intercourse” as they called it. He was familiar with how organic beings copulated, but he found it rather simplistic, and honestly a little gross. He decided then that a strictly academic approach was best for this situation.

“Alright,” he said as he pushed his work aside and pulled his datapad closer. He removed the stylus from its side and tapped it on the screen to pull up a blank document. “My handwriting in the English Earth language isn’t very good, so you’ll just have to deal with it,” he paused as both Miko and Rafael suddenly stood up and crowded around the datapad, which, for them, was about the size of a sixty-four-inch flat-screen TV. Once they were situated in front of the screen, he continued by drawing the beginnings of a flow chart. “The ultimate goal of interfacing is to overload a bot’s circuits. We don’t do this to procreate, it is literally for pleasure and enjoyment purposes _only._ How does circuitry overload occur? _That _is the complicated part.”

Miko had planned on taking notes, but then she saw that Rafael had already sat down in front of the screen and was typing away on his laptop taking his own, so she figured she could simply get them from him later, just like back in high school. This gave her more time to pay attention to the datapad as Knock Out continued his explanation. He drew multiple boxes in his flow chart around words like “clutch selector”, “kinetic friction”, and “throttle control rod”, then drew several connector lines from each box to even more boxes and other shapes, with even more words like “sodium vapor”, “port replicator”, and “lateral and lower exhaust outlets.” All of this was made more complicated by the “If yes then” and “If no then” prompts he wrote above each box and then drew lines and arrows, in several colors, back and forth between all six of the shapes. Then he started to write out some very long strings of coding, but half of it was in Cybertronian because, according to him, there were no Earth words or symbols appropriate for it.

Miko gave a solemn nod like she completely understood everything he was saying, but he just kept talking, and drawing more diagrams, and then talking some more. Somewhere between “The configuration that corresponds to the lowest electronic energy is called the ‘ground state’, but any other configuration is called the ‘excited state’”, “If one static current is running polar opposite to the other you have to be careful, or you can get electrocuted,” and “Sometimes you have to do a little math,” Miko suddenly realized this was way, _way_ more complicated than she’d anticipated, and that it sounded very much like a lecture she’d just recently fallen asleep in at college. Knock Out went on and on and _on,_ creating more and more new pages on the screen and filling them with mathematical equations and formulas, something about physics, electrical blue prints, and was that supposed to be a diagram of a carburetor? Before she knew it, she was zoning out and losing interest. She started to only catch snippets of each sentence: “…more commonly known as ‘tuning the radio frequency’”; “…the electromagnetic spectrum is _complicated”_; “…your grids have to be compatible”. Her attention wandered to the workshop and all the tools and supplies that were on the shelves. An entire hour passed by with Knock Out writing on the datapad and Rafael scrambling to take notes as fast as he could while Miko began to wonder when was the last time she’d eaten at the KO Burger in town? Why did Jack’s girlfriend hate her so much? And then she started recalling and miming a dozen different guitar chords with her fingers because that’s what she did when she got bored. She only snapped back into reality when the timber of Knock Out’s voice hinted that he was _finally _done with his explanation.

“…but the _most important thing_ to remember is to make sure your coaxial cables are _fully insulated_, and to always, _always_ use protective firewalls, because at the end of the cycle, you just don’t know what that other bot’s circuitry had been exposed to,” Knock Out concluded with a shake of his head, like it was a damn shame that there were so many dirty bots out there not practicing safe interfacing.

“I asked you about _sex,_ not _science!” _Miko shouted up to him when he was done.

Knock Out blinked back to her, then narrowed his optics. Miko might be smart in some areas, but she was clearly lacking in others. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want me to _dumb it down_ for you?”

“_No!” _Miko countered as she glared up at him. “I don’t need it to be _dumbed down_, this just isn’t what I was talking about! At ALL!” It wasn’t that she was unintelligent, but this was _not _the answer she’d expected.

“This is _fascinating!” _Rafael said, still typing away on his laptop as he glanced to the datapad every few seconds, completely oblivious to Miko’s lack of understanding.

“Well _he_ gets it!” Knock Out said as he jerked a thumb to Rafael. Thank Primus at least _one _of the humans understood and his entire hour of explanation didn’t go to waste.

Miko glanced to Rafael as she sat back down beside him, then shrugged to Knock Out. “Yeah, well Raf is a genius! I thought it was gonna be like…_I _dunno! Plugs going into outlets and stuff!”

“I covered that when I was explaining cross-platform connections,” said Knock Out.

“What about _spikes?”_ Miko asked, pointing to Knock Out like he’d left out this crucial piece of information, but he only scoffed at her.

“What _about_ spikes?”

“I didn’t hear you talk about _them!”_

“I _did _talk about them,” Knock Out said as he glared and pointed to some seemingly random calculation on the datapad, “but ‘spike’ is _not_ the proper anatomical term for that part of the frame. I’m sorry if you weren’t paying attention. Where did you even _hear_ that word?”

Miko shrugged again. “Jackie and Bulkhead.”

With a heavy sigh, Knock Out rubbed his forehelm with a hand. Did the Autobots even _realize_ what they’d been teaching these human children? “Why am I not surprised?”

“What are the _other_ words for Cybertronian dick, then?” Miko said, asking the important questions, “’Cause_ I_ think the term ‘dipstick’ is _really_ fit—"

Both of Rafael’s hands suddenly left his laptop keyboard and shot out to instantly cover Miko’s open mouth to silence her, his eyes going wide as his ears perked to the voices he swore he heard coming from the Medbay. “I think I hear Ratchet!” he said in a stage whisper. He knew the sound of the old Medic’s footfalls anywhere.

“…been a few months, hasn’t it? How are you, Ratchet?” June asked as she walked into the Medbay beside the much larger being. She and Ratchet both completely missed the look of horror Miko was giving them as she poked her head out from the workshop entrance across the room and then all but dove back into it.

“It’s been some time, yes,” Ratchet replied as he came to a stop by his work station and peered down at June. “I’m doing alright. How are you?”

“Good!” June said as she glanced around the Medbay, then back. “Really good. I was just stopping by to give you this,” she reached into the pockets of her white coat that covered her green scrubs and then offered up a card. “Uhh…sorry it’s so small.”

With his hands in the condition they were, Ratchet had a hard time hanging onto the tiny piece of paper, and finally had to ask June to simply place it in his open palm. Harder still was reading the handwriting, and he tapped at the side of his helm with his free hand to eject a set of lenses from his armor plating, which adjusted to fit over one of his optics and acted as a microscope so that he could squint down at the script. “’The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of June Darby and William Fowler’”. Ahh, I see! It’s finally happening?”

“Yes,” June said with a smile. She noted the way Ratchet struggled to hold the thin paper, but said nothing. She had never seen his hands when he was young and in his prime, so although she knew they were causing him issues, she didn’t realize just how bad they were. Thus, she winced a bit, feeling guilty as now she had to offer him even more cards. “I have invitations for First Aid, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, Arcee, Smokescreen, everyone from Team Prime. Can you send them to Cybertron for me? I’m sorry to ask, it’s just I’m not really sure how to get them there otherwise.”

“Of course,” Ratchet leaned down once more as she placed them into his palm.

“I have some for Steve and Spam and Click Bait, too,” said June as she pulled the last three cards from her pocket and glanced back toward the exit. “Bill said they would be here right about now, but I didn’t see them on my way in?”

Ratchet set the stack of cards on the counter beside him as he retracted the micro-optic lens back into his armor plating. “Yes, they’re due in from the mines any klick now. I hope you don’t mind me saying, its very kind of you to invite them. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to attend.” He was surprised at the offer, but was equally pleased that despite the recent past, the Vehicons and the humans were managing to build decent relationships with one another.

“Yeah, they’ve really helped out in rebuilding Jasper,” June said as she looked back up to Ratchet. “Bill says the Air Force would be decades behind on their technological advances now if it wasn’t for them. Plus, they really seem to love it here. We wanted to invite them so they can experience more human culture,” she paused then as she glanced around the Medbay once more. “Wow, I think it’s been more than a year since I last stepped foot in here,” her gaze stopped once she spotted one large, silver Autobot badge on the wall close to Ratchet’s work station; she knew who that badge had once belonged to. A small feeling of sadness and nostalgia swept over her for a moment, then she smiled to Ratchet again. She had purposefully been avoiding this place more and more, in her efforts to move on in her life. She hadn’t meant for that to also mean avoiding old friends, but sometimes it felt that way. “How _are_ you, Ratchet? _Really?”_

Ratchet hadn’t realized what she’d seen, but he could hear the tone change in her voice, which he knew to be a human indication that she was expressing empathy. “Oh, I’m fine,” he waved her off with a hand, then shrugged. “Still here. Still old. Still taking it one cycle at a time. You know how it is.”

“I do.”

Ratchet was quick to change the subject, which did not go unnoticed by June. “How’s Jack? I don’t see him here very often anymore.”

“He’s good. Still in college, still passing. That’s all I can ask for,” June said with a shrug, and once Ratchet nodded to that, she gave another quick, almost wary glance around the Medbay once more. “I uhh…I heard a certain ex-‘Con came back online recently?”

“Yes, he did,” Ratchet said as he nodded once more, then turned to his workstation and picked up the datapad there.

“He’s still being held here, then?”

“Yes. I have him fabricating frame parts now, for bots that need replacements.”

“Fitting.”

_“I_ thought so,” Ratchet shrugged.

“Where is he?”

“Just there, in the side room,” Ratchet pointed with a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s locked in; the settings on his I/D Chip prevent him from leaving the area.”

June stared at the open doorway to the workshop for a second as though she was debating going in. She was not sure why she even considered it to begin with, it wasn’t like she had anything left to say to the being that had almost killed her. She’d had her say, he’d eventually apologized (for what it was worth), and that was that. She reminded herself that she was trying to move on here, and then blinked when she heard the heavy footfalls of more Transformers in the hangar. “Oh, there’s the Vehicons! Well,” she quickly smiled up to Ratchet again, “it was good catching up. I promise I’ll try to stop by more often.”

Neither June nor Ratchet were aware of the absolute panic that was occurring in the workshop the entire time they’d been talking. Knock Out deleted all the information he had just spent an hour tabulating on the datapad while Rafael saved his notes on his laptop and shut it down before shoving it into his backpack.

Miko had been keeping watch at the doorframe, narrowly escaping June’s gaze, but just as she was about to sigh with relief as June walked out of the Medbay, she was forced to strangle a yelp of surprise at what she saw next. She dashed over to Knock Out and tugged at the tire on his leg. “Jack’s mom is leaving, but now Ratchet is headed _straight for us!”_

Rafael was just getting his bag on his shoulders when he blinked down to Miko, then quickly around the workshop. Where could they hide? “The vent!” he said as he pointed up to the grate in the air vent that ran the length of the room. Both he and Miko knew the layout of the Autobot base like the backs of their hands, and he was sure they could make it out that way.

Knock Out hesitated to grab the humans, but to his surprise, Rafael jumped right into his open palm, as did Miko once he ducked down towards the floor to let her clamber on as well. He was able to pry open the grate, gently shove them inside the metal tunnel behind it, and close the grate once more just as Ratchet was approaching the doorway. By the time the old Medic had optics on him, Knock Out was back to work on the shoulder joint. The guilty look he gave Ratchet was nothing new; he frequently worried he was already in the wrong, a by-product of working under Megatron for as long as he had.

“How’s it going in here?” Ratchet asked as he stepped up to the counter to survey Knock Out’s work. He was about to say more, but a sudden scuttling sound in the air vents drew his attention away. He glared to the square, metal shaft that ran the length of the workshop and stepped over to it to raise a fist and slam it against the siding a few times, creating quite a racket. “Damn rats! Diesel isn’t doing his job.”

Knock Out cringed, though not as much as Miko and Rafael, who were forced to stop running inside the ventilation system and slap their hands over their ears at Ratchet’s pounding. “It’s fine,” Knock Out said as he quickly looked back to his work. “Everything is fine.”

“Good,” said Ratchet as he turned back to him, though now both of them quickly turned to look out the window of the workshop, the one that had a view of the hangar, where muted shouting could suddenly be heard. They both watched as the Vehicons got into some sort of altercation. They could not make out the words that were yelled, but suddenly Spam shoved Steve in the chestplates with both hands. Steve did not shove back, but Click Bait stepped up and shoved Spam back instead, and before they knew it, an all-out brawl was occurring between the three.

His optics narrowed, Knock Out stalked over to the window and banged on it with a fist. He could not believe what he was seeing! Had they forgotten themselves _entirely!?_ “_Hey!_ What in the Pit do you think you’re _doing!?_” he yelled, even though the Vehicons wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“Hang on,” Ratchet was beside Knock Out in a nano-klick, and though he was firm in his words, they were not harsh or accusatory, he was simply stating a fact. “You don’t tell them what to do anymore. I’ll handle this. Go sit over there,” he said as he pointed to the stool at the counter on the far wall of the workshop. Only when Knock Out opened his mouth to protest did Ratchet start to glare. “_Now, _please.”

With his own glare (and a bit of a sulk), Knock Out crossed the room and sat as instructed. From that spot, he could not see the Vehicons through the window anymore, and as the klicks ticked by, he began to wonder exactly how long Ratchet expected him to stay seated there. When Ratchet finally returned, Knock Out stood up and walked back to the window to glance out at the hangar again, but the Vehicons were long gone. “What was _that_ all about? Primus, I’ve _never_ seen them act like _that_ before!” he said as he glanced back to Ratchet. “Megatron would have—!"

_“Killed_ them?” Ratchet interrupted, and there was a challenging tone to his voice as he locked optics with Knock Out. It did not take long for the ex-‘Con to look away.

_So what if Ratchet is right?_ Knock Out thought to himself as he quickly glanced to his peds. Ratchet didn’t know the Vehicons like _he_ did. Ratchet didn’t know how they were _supposed_ to behave. Still, Knock Out felt like he owed an explanation for their behavior. It wasn’t _all_ Megatron’s fault, at least that’s how _he_ saw it. “They’re young, you know,” he said once he finally looked back up to Ratchet. “Steve is a second generation Vehicon, and Click Bait is a third, but Spam is a fifth, he’s _barely _two thousand megacycles old. He’s practically a Sparkling, and—"

“_You’re_ young, you know,” said Ratchet, again staring Knock Out down as he crossed his servos over his chestplates.

“That’s not fair,” Knock Out countered, “you get to say that about _everyone.”_

Ratchet rolled his optics to that, but any anger he was trying to build up over the situation suddenly left his signature. With a vented sigh, he glanced to the hangar through the window. “I’m aware of the Vehicons’ ages. I don’t think their current…_behavioral issues_ are dependent on their ages, though, so much as the fact that they were Cold Constructed by Shockwave and spent the majority of their lives killing on the battlefield and living in fear of Megatron’s wrath. They were denied any sort of proper upbringing. I’m not surprised they’ve begun to act out, now that the war is over and that fear is gone.” He wanted to say more. He wanted to say how horrible and fragged up he thought it was that Megatron had held them all hostage to the “Decepticon cause” by using fear and intimidation and torture to further his goals of first planetary and then galactic domination. And when Ratchet said “them all”, he meant _all _of them, from the Vehicons, to Knock Out, to Starscream, to every Transformer that had ever aligned themselves with the Decepticons. The longer he spent in the presence of the Vehicons and Knock Out, the more he realized how deeply traumatized they were, by Megatron perhaps more than the war itself. But he didn’t mention this to Knock Out, not yet, anyway. It was something he intended to work on with him, _slowly,_ though he still wasn’t sure how.

The flicker of anger in Knock Out’s signature was suddenly drowned out by guilt. Ratchet felt it for only a second, then it disappeared from the air, as though Knock Out could simply turn it off like a switch. Ratchet found it a bit unnerving, but then again, he expected nothing less from a Decepticon, former or not. That Knock Out was still doing that, however, bothered him. Add it to the list of things to talk about.

“They’ve never shown an interest in returning to Cybertron?” Knock Out asked, pretending he had not heard the truth of Ratchet’s previous words and how they actually made him feel. He inched his way back to the counter and picked up his tools once more.

“No,” Ratchet shook his head, “despite the fact we’ve repeatedly told them they’re free to do so any time they wish. I think it might be better for them here, though, away from the mess back home.” He watched as Knock Out ran the file down the welding seam on the socket in silence for a moment before speaking again. “I haven’t heard anything from Smokescreen. I still think it’s good that you wrote to him. I’m sure he’ll respond soon.”

“It’s fine either way, whether he does or doesn’t,” Knock Out muttered. He stopped himself before he could say, “I don’t care,” at the end, because he knew Ratchet would call him out on that again; at this point it was a lie.

“He’s a _good bot_, Knock Out. He’ll come around, I’m sure of it,” Ratchet tried to sound reassuring, then dared to ask a question, for he had been slowly trying to construct a timeline in his mind. “How old were you when you Sired him?”

Knock Out had to pause in his work and narrow his optics as he tried to dredge up the correct data on that. “About one-point-three, maybe point-four, I guess,” he finally said, indicating he meant how many millions of megacycles old he had been at the time. He flicked his gaze to Ratchet then, and could tell the mech had more questions about that. He could sense the curiosity there, in a way that he hadn’t sensed it in Ratchet’s EM field before, about anything else, and the old Medic had a _lot_ of topics he’d tried to bug him about. Knock Out had already spent many hours deflecting Ratchet’s attempts to get him to talk, so he wasn’t about to start now. “I’m done with this,” he said, changing the subject as he gestured to the frame part on the counter.

“I see,” said Ratchet, and when he felt Knock Out putting those barriers up in his signature again, he gave an inward sigh and nodded to Knock Out’s work. He would try again later. “Alright, let’s have a look.”


End file.
